The Murdered Do Haunt Their Murderers
by sock-feet-and-stirring-sand
Summary: "If you truly believed that you'd be enjoying your last days of school out in the mountains, playing games with your classmates... you were sadly mistaken. This is no game." AU-SYOT set in 2014, adapted from JabberjayHeart's Darkest Desires.
1. Million Dollar Bills

**Chapter One: Million Dollar Bills.**

* * *

 _There's nothing I want but money and time_

 _Million dollar bills and a tick tick tick tick_

* * *

 **Chanel Agresti.**

 **Scarsdale, New York.**

* * *

"Come in, Miss Agresti."

I rise, smoothing my skirt. Ms. March holds the door, but hardly waits until I'm inside before slamming it shut behind us. "Take a seat, please. I'm on a very tight schedule."

I slide into a hard wooden chair and frown at the state of her office, which, typically spotless, has fallen into stark disorder. Scattered papers are spread across every inch of her desk; overturned coffee cups have been tossed carelessly towards a wastebasket, leaving dark stains on the carpet. Books have been shoved haphazardly into the shelf behind her, while others are piled against the wall or have spilled under my feet.

"Well, it's certainly been a long time since we've seen each other," Ms. March says. Unsmiling, she reaches across her desk for my note. "What is it this time?"

As she reads, I examine the papers closest to me- an assortment of emails, by the look of them, although I can't make out what they say from my angle.

"Hitting another student… threatening students… oh, this won't do." She rubs her temples. "And here I was, hoping you'd finally learned."

"I was provoked," I say. "I can prove it."

"Unfortunately for you, I don't care." She crumples the note up and tosses it towards the trash- like the cups, it hits off the rim and lands on the carpet. _I would have made that._ "I've said this before- you need to learn to hold your temper."

"I don't have a temper."

"Yet you always seem to have a harder time staying out of my office than most."

"That's not my temper," I argue. "That's other things-"

"Save it. I don't really care about the specifics. You'll be staying here tomorrow, along with everyone else who seems to think they are above our standards. Maybe while the rest of your class is enjoying their day off, you'll learn how to control yourself."

"What? No Ditch Day? Ms.-"

"It's fair. You broke the rules."

"What about Tristan up there? He was taunting me. He was picking a fight. Why isn't he down here? Why isn't he staying back, too?"

"Because _he_ didn't lash out and attack anyone."

"Do you think I would have just punched a kid for no reason? You act like I'm some kind of sadistic maniac," I huff. "I had to. You didn't hear what he was saying. You would have wanted to hit him too!"

"Don't try and tell me what I would have done," she threatens. "I have no tolerance for fighting. Learn to ignore him."

"Are you seriously telling me to _ignore_ him? What about telling him to shut his damn mouth and leave me alone? What about that?"

"This is about _you,_ not-"

"He isn't even hurt!" I yell. "I barely even hit him!"

"Be _quiet,_ Chanel!" She slams her hand on her desk, and the edges of the pages rustle. "You have pushed me to the limit all year, and I have no more capacity for patience with you. Now get out of my office, because I have actual work to do and I can't afford for you to waste my time!"

I resist the urge to flat-out scream in her face, although every bone in my body would love to do just that. Instead, breathing hard, I push myself out of my chair and storm out. It's not fair. It's the last week of school. And he was being a dick! Why can't a girl get her hands dirty when she needs to?

I duck into a nearby bathroom to splash water on my face and hopefully calm down a little. As I rub water in my eyes- waterproof mascara is a lifesaver, honestly- I recite a common mantra under my breath. "Ms. March is a bitch… Tristan can go fuck himself… Ms. March is a bitch…"

I'm so ready to get out of this place.

Not that going to school here has been all bad-this year in particular has been one big "fuck it," so I've been more or less free to do whatever I want. The trouble is those teachers who take us too seriously... who enforce every little rule on every single student, when clearly none of us gives a shit anymore. What's the point of even showing up to class? APs are over, prom was last weekend, and it really doesn't matter what we get on our finals. Only thing left for us is graduation, and that's next week. Other than that, we've all gotten into college, we've done what they asked, now leave us alone.

The bell's not set to ring for another twenty minutes or so, but I don't bother making the trip all the way back to the third floor. Not only because the most we do these days is play Jeopardy and watch Disney movies in foreign languages, but because I need to clear my head over Ms. March, and over the boys up there, who took things too far, once again. I can take a joke, believe me, but once people start making fun of shit they don't understand, that's when it stops being funny and starts getting personal.

" _So what'd Wes dump you for, anyway? Bennett thought it was the sex, cause Wes said that you used to cry all the time when you guys were doing it. You really couldn't take him, Agresti?"_

" _Fuck. Off."_

" _Ooh, she's mad now! You know, I'm not sure I agree with him, though. I said Wes just felt uncomfortable not being the man in the relationship._ "

That's when I hit him.

It's stupid, because I really don't have a temper- swear it- and I'm pretty good at ignoring the slurs about the way I dress, or the lesbian jokes (which are so stupid, because people know who I've been sleeping with, and they aren't girls). Only when it comes to Wes do I really lose my mind. And unfortunately, I think people have started to notice. I'd be more worried if it wasn't the end of the year, but I only have six days left with these people and then I never have to see them again. _Thank freakin' God._

As I dry my face off, a motion in the mirror makes me jump. I assumed I was the only one in here. Then there's a click as the door unlocks and the creak of crutches being leaned on, and my face breaks out into a grin.

"Gi! Are you kidding me?" I throw myself at her and pull her into a hug. She groans, but doesn't fight to pull herself away from me. "Where have you been? I literally haven't seen you since… since…"

"April," she says, voice smothered in my shoulder. "Don't worry, I wasn't expecting you to visit me or anything."

 _Shit._ Gianna's been injured all spring- tore her ACL in her third game of the year- and I was supposed to take care of her after her surgery at the end of April. I did visit a couple of times (I'm not that horrible) but in all the craziness of AP exams, lacrosse playoffs, and final projects, I must have forgotten all about her.

I pull myself away. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I'm the worst. I don't know what happened."

"Slipped your mind, I guess. It's okay. I'm just your sister."

"I'm sorry, alright?" Seriously, the last thing I need is to be fighting with Gianna right now. "If there's something I can do now to make it up to you…"

"Well, I'm almost okay to walk again, and I'm not all high on painkillers anymore, and I can pretty much get to all my classes on my own without anyone having to carry my bag. So there's not much." She crutches over to the sink and lets the water run over her hands.

"Shit, Gi…" I grasp for any ideas, anything she'd want me to do. "Hey, how about this. This summer, right? I'll take you shopping as soon as we get out of school. Anything you want, it's on me. New phone, or swimsuits, or new volleyball shoes, or scarves and jewelry and shit for school next year. And I'll pay for a new school skirt, since I know your blue one is a mess."

"Nice try," she says. "Mom ordered me a new one last month. Not that it matters, since this place is supposed to be closing after this year."

I'd almost forgotten. Ever since that politician visited last week, rumors have been flying about the school's supposed closure. The general agreement is that he somehow found out about all the kids who died last year, and is shutting the place down for being too unsafe, but none of the teachers have said anything, and there's no real proof of any of it.

"You don't think that's true, do you?"

"Well, I don't know. Haven't you noticed that Ms. March has been really stressed lately?"

"She's definitely being more of a bitch than normal, if that counts. But that could be something to do with her family. It doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah, right. This place is her whole life. She's never had a husband, and she doesn't have any kids. It's definitely something to do with the school."

I'm not convinced, but if Gianna believes it, I'm not really in a position to argue with her. Mostly because I'm on a slippery enough slope as it is.

"I'll get you something else, then," I offer. "Or take you on a road trip somewhere. It doesn't matter where, you can pick."

"I don't want to go on a road trip," she says, drying her hands, "and I honestly don't care about going shopping. You can't really make it up to me at this point, so why try?"

"Look, I'm sorry-"

"Forget it," she says, and lets the door slam shut behind her.

I'm left standing in the middle of the bathroom, stunned. Well, fuck. This really has not been my day. _Maybe I should just go back to bed…_

I finish drying my face, then head out to find the nearest stairway, trying to make it to my dorm. Halfway up the main staircase, I freeze. Anabel, Ms. March's appallingly vibrant secretary, is coming the opposite direction. But before I can spin around, hoping she won't notice me, it's too late. I do my best to feign a smile as she greets me, cheery and bubbly as always.

"Chanel," she chirps. "How are you, dear?"

"Fine. Just heading back up to class…" I make to pass her.

"Oh, of course," she says, thankfully catching the hint. As much as I've come to hate her, I at least can appreciate that she's one of the only authority figures around here who doesn't just assume I'm always getting myself into trouble. "Glad you're keeping focused on your schoolwork, even when we're so close to graduation. You wouldn't believe how many students I've seen wandering the halls lately. It's like they've forgotten where to go!"

"I can imagine," I mutter, and continue back up the stairs. Oh, Anabel. She gets on everyone's last nerve with her eternally perky attitude, but at least that's the worst of her. She's hopelessly clueless and so naive it's almost cute, if she wasn't twenty-nine years old. Gullible, too. That, all of us have agreed, is her finest quality. When Anabel is supervising, the students can relax, knowing even if she catches us doing anything suspicious, she'll be easily convinced otherwise.

She is Ms. March's most trusted adviser, though, and as I reach the second floor landing, I pause, remembering my conversation with Gianna. Anabel may be an airhead, but she holds one of the central offices in this school. If there's anyone who will confirm the rumors about this place closing, it's her.

I hurry back down the stairs, but in the time it took for me to climb to the second floor and back, she has disappeared. The only door this close to the stairs is… of course. Ms. March's office. As I approach the door- carefully, of course, because Ms. March doesn't need another reason to punish me- I glimpse the shapes of the two women through the tinted glass. Anabel's in there, all right. Even better, it looks like, in her carelessness, she neglected to shut the door, and I can just make out their conversation if I stand close enough.

"You mean… we're really getting shut down?

"It's over, Anabel. I've tried everything. But the Board won't listen… they want everyone out at the end of this year."

"But there haven't been any problems this year. The school's been completely safe."

"That doesn't matter to them," says Ms. March. "It happened. It's done. They know about the Archer boys, and Sabina, and Peyton..."

Those names. The kids who died my sophomore and junior years. The staff have always tried to keep what happened quiet, but gossip here these days spreads faster than chlamydia did in last year's senior class. Still, it's all pretty much been speculation, and I'll risk whatever this punishment is to be the first to learn the truth. I try to find somewhere comfortable to sit, but the chair I typically use when I'm waiting outside this office is too far away, out of earshot, and in front of the office window, and obviously that defeats the whole point of eavesdropping. My best option is to pop a squat on the floor and hope anyone walking by is too engrossed in their own self-obsession to notice what I'm doing.

"I still don't understand how they found out," she continues, as I scoot up against the wall. "We don't have many visitors to the school, so it's unlikely someone from outside leaked the information. But who from within the school would have tipped Mr. Caville off? Who would have risked their own back to do us in like this?"

"What about the recent hires, Francine? They have the least loyalty to Haversmith. I wouldn't trust any of them."

"Yes, I've thought about it… I just don't want to believe it. Erin, James, Maura… they're all so kind. And I think you can agree that we've been very careful not to share anything unnecessary with them. As far as they know, they are only here for security purposes."

It takes several moments for me to register the footsteps on the stairs. I have just managed to pull myself up and look like I'm walking up towards the stairs myself when Mr. Horan appears. "Chanel," he nods, then pauses. "What are you doing out of class?"

"Just getting something to drink," I say. "It's way too hot."

He only laughs. "Too hot? Here? Just wait until you're down at George Mason, pulling sleds out on the field. It's supposed to be a nasty summer. If this is the most you can manage, good luck."

"Hey," I protest, and he chuckles. "I'm tougher than that. I just thought it might be... inconvenient... if I died of heat exhaustion in the middle of class." _Inconvenient to the school, more like._

"As I said, good luck." He grins and continues down the hall. _Asshole._ But I can't help smiling along with him. Horan is one of the few teachers here who gets along with his students and actually seems to like us, and he's one of my favorites for that reason. Not to mention, he was a huge help for me when I was deciding on college. I can't thank him enough for that.

When he's out of sight, I creep back down the stairs and slide down to the floor next to Ms. March's office door.

"I really do feel bad for the students," Ms. March is saying. "What's happening isn't fair to them."

"I'm sure there are other schools around," Anabel says. _Well, duh._

"It isn't just about where they're going to school. It's the money, the tuition… the fact that they had to pay so much more, and we still couldn't keep things quiet. It was all a waste."

"It's not that bad, Francine. The kids have way too much money, anyways. It's hardly affected most of them."

"The scholarship kids, though. What about them? We've robbed them, haven't we?"

"It's sad, but it was necessary," says Anabel. "Especially after what you'd already invested into keeping the other families quiet. If you had to do it again, to keep the school open another year, you would."

So that explains why we haven't been sued. Actually, that explains a lot of things. The cuts to classroom and extracurricular budgets alike, for instance, despite the fact that tuition was raised more than $15,000 this year. Not that that was any sort of emergency for my family- my mother alone makes enough in a year to send both Gianna and I through med school (on second thought, just Gianna, since she's the smart one). But I know several students who nearly didn't come back this year. Their scholarships were reduced because the school, somehow, could not come up with the money to afford them. As a result, there were a number of very angry parents knocking on Haversmith's doors at the beginning of first term.

The more frustrating part for the rest of us have been the other losses. The AC no longer turns on in our dorms or in any of the third floor classrooms. Food costs have doubled, while the food quality has been cut in half. Even our sports teams haven't been spared. Our jersey orders in the fall were cancelled, meaning we had to wear last year's slimy, hole-ridden uniforms and play with lopsided volleyballs. When the bleachers broke midway through basketball season, the school requested that everyone start bringing their own chairs to games, rather than just dealing with the cost right then and there. Many of us just stopped going, because let's face it- it was embarrassing. Even the freaking public schools could afford functional bleachers. We'd all have asked our parents to donate money- God knows they have too much of it- but Ms. March swore everything would be taken care of. Yet here we are, in the first week of June, still sweating our asses off in ninety-degree classrooms and having to strip our beds of all the sheets and covers just so we can get a decent night's sleep.

"I'd do it, yes," Ms. March admits. "I mean, these are our jobs. How are we going to get rehired when we work at a school where our students keep dying?"

They're silent for a few moments. What Ms. March said, honestly, as grim as it is, doesn't surprise me. She's always seemed somewhat out of touch with the kids she controls. She likes the power and the money, I assume, and it's clear her own selfish desires have gotten in the way of what this school needs. What she said about the scholarships, though…

"You did your best," Anabel says. "And you did make it better. You fired Arlene after she let Sabina drown. You got rid of Grayson when he let the Archer boys fall off the climbing wall and break their necks. There wasn't anything you could do about Peyton… but all the evidence proves it was a mistake. Mistakes happen."

 _Peyton was smarter than that, though,_ I muse. _She was no stranger to painkillers. She would have known what she was doing when she overdosed._

"Personally, I've felt much more comfortable without the two of them here, haven't you? I know you didn't like to do it, but firing them seems to have paid off. No incidents this year. No crazy deaths. We've had a completely safe school year, thanks to you."

"But what's the point?" groans Ms. March. "We're getting shut down anyway. It doesn't matter what has or hasn't happened this year. The Board doesn't care, and Mr. Caville doesn't care. They think we're incompetent… careless… dangerous, even. It doesn't even matter what the kids have accomplished in the classroom. We're done."

They fall into silence again. Moments later, there's a crackle of gravel as a car pulls up outside, and through the opposite window, I glimpse the side of a shiny black limo as it glides up to the gates. From Ms. March's office, there's a squeak. "He's here, Francine. Which office would you like for us to use?"

"This one is fine," she says dejectedly. "It's not like anything he finds will change his mind."

"I'm really sorry," Anabel says. "About everything. You've tried so hard, and you deserve so much better."

"It's not your fault. It's just… too bad." Ms. March sighs. "I am curious, though. I thought he had what he came for. Why does he want to speak with you?"

"Maybe he thinks there's something you've been keeping from him," she says.

"Well, it's all out there now. I suspect it will be a brief meeting." Her chair groans as she stands. "Let me grab you a drink before you start. It's far too warm here."

"Thank you, Francine. Just some iced tea, if you can find some? And another for Benjamin would be just perfect."

As quietly as I can, I scoot away from the door and make a break for the stairs. Coming out of her office, head down, Ms. March does not notice me, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. I watch as she disappears down the opposite hallway. As much as I'd like to feel bad for her… I can't. As soon as she let four students die in her school, it was over. The fact that she tried to keep herself out of trouble by essentially stealing from her own students- especially those who could not afford it- is beyond fucked up. _Georgia is going to hate this._

From above, I watch this Mr. Caville be helped out of his limo by- an assistant, maybe?- who he motions to stay behind. As Mr. Caville slowly come up to the gates, admiring the building as he walks, Anabel skips out of Ms. March's office to meet him, a smile playing at her lips. _She never stops. Someone needs to remind her she's six days away from losing her job._

I head back upstairs, finally, head buzzing with what I heard, yet still tasting disappointment in the back of my throat. Nothing they said about the kids was very new, and I guess the rest of us will have to be satisfied with our speculations. However, at least I know one thing is true- after this week, Haversmith is going to be gone for good.

* * *

I'm stretched out across my bed, reading the latest edition of People (Drew Barrymore's new baby girl is the ugliest goblin baby I've ever seen) when Georgia barges in, less than thirty seconds after the bell rings. "Did you really tackle Tristan Wirth over a desk during Mr. Hale's block?"

"Negative," I say, and she looks disappointed. "I did punch him in the mouth, though. Got Ditch Day privileges taken away, but I think it was worth it."

"Fuck that. Just sneak on one of the buses with the rest of us."

"You know I would, but they have a list, George." In return for letting us off campus for the day, Haversmith insists on taking extra precautions so that they don't lose any of us on the forty-minute trip to Conway. Roll call. Checking and double-checking names. Another head count before we get off the bus. Stupid, if you ask me, because once you have all the kids on a bus, where are they going to go? Regardless, security is tight, and I've tried sneaking out before, but it just doesn't work. "It's okay, I'll have loads of fun staying here with... Gavin." I grimace. "Spare me."

"Could be worse. Bet you anything that Harrison spends the whole day following me into stores, hoping he'll get to see me naked in a changing room. I've been able to avoid him up until now, but..."

She flops down next to me and pulls out her phone, and I suddenly remember why I wanted to talk to her so badly. "Hey, I almost forgot. There's something I need to tell you, and you're not going to like it."

"Tell me."

"Close the door."

She shuts it. When she lies back down next to me, her face is serious.

"So, the school's closing."

"Well, I knew _that_."

"No, but it really is. I heard Ms. March talking..." I pick at the peeling paint on the side of my nightstand. "The guy who was here last Tuesday is the U.S. Secretary of Education, and he knows everything. After this week, Haversmith is going to be gone."

Her eyes widen. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah. Seriously."

"So how'd he find out?" she asks. "And now, of all times? It's been more than a year since anything happened."

"That's the thing. No one really knows. Ms. March thinks someone on the staff must have tipped him off."

"Well, I'm amazed we've made it this far, honestly." She rolls over on her back. "Good for us, I guess. Way to not spoil the secret."

"Don't you think it's kind of thoughtless of her to trust three hundred kids with something like that, though? I mean, I know seventy percent of us aren't really on speaking terms with our parents anymore, but the chances of someone letting something slip over dinner are pretty high. Especially for the newer kids. If I had been a freshman when it happened, I probably would have said something."

"You're right. It's... suspicious. And the families knew. So why didn't they speak up about it?"

"That's the part you're not going to like."

"I don't care. I want to know."

I check to make sure the door's shut and locked before I continue.

"Ms. March... bribed the families of the kids who died," I say, hushed. "Millions, probably, considering the amount tuition was raised to pay for it." I watch as her face flushes red. "That's why we had to pay so much this year... why you had to pay so much more despite your scholarship. It's fucked up, I know."

"You're sure?

"Ms. March said it herself," I say. "It makes sense, doesn't it? Why nothing's been in the news? Why the school's lasted this long without any legal trouble?"

Georgia thinks. "Well... it could... well..." She's trying to find some sort of silver lining, but for once, I think she's at a loss.

She goes silent. She glances away, down to the field below, where a group of sophomores look like they're racing around the lake.

"My scholarship used to cover ninety percent of my costs," she tells me quietly. "My parents paid a few thousand every year for my books, uniform, room, and part of my meal plan, and it wasn't a problem. Then this summer, when they told us we'd be paying double what we were, and for no real reason, my whole family panicked. I mean, you know what my parents do. But not letting me go to Haversmith for another year wasn't an option for them. We cancelled all our summer plans, and I took three part-time jobs, and my dad took another job, and we just barely came up with the money. We kept waiting to know why, why we had to do this, why everything cost so much more..."

She makes a fist, then unclenches it slowly. "Why couldn't she just own up to it?" she whispers. "Deal with the consequences herself, rather than putting the weight on us?"

"She's protecting herself," I say, not really knowing what I'm saying. "She doesn't care about us. She just cares about the money."

"Of course she does. She runs this school like it's a business, and we're her workers. It's not fair."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Georgia watches out the window for several minutes. Finally she stands, picks her sneakers up, and rummages through the drawers for a pair of shorts. When she finds an acceptable pair, she goes and unlocks the door. "I'm going to get some air. A run sounds really good right now. Did you want to meet me down there?"

"No, go ahead," I motion. I glance down at the lake for an instant, and by the time I turn around, Georgia is gone.

* * *

I get to bed early, skipping the Ditch-Day's-tomorrow-let's-all-get-fucking-wasted festivities down the hall, knowing everyone there is going to be away at Conway tomorrow, and the only thing worse than being hungover is being hungover and having no one to complain to. Still, it's a long time before I fall asleep. Georgia eventually comes in around one, but I pretend to be asleep to avoid whatever conversation she wants to have now that she's had time to digest what I told her. As much as she trusts me, I just can't understand her perspective. In terms of what we have and where we come from, we are worlds apart.

I plan to sleep late to make up for my involuntary late night, but all of a sudden it's 7:54 and Georgia's violently shaking me awake. "Getupgetupgetupgetupgetupgetup-"

"Jesus Christ, George," I groan, rolling over. "I'm not going, remember?"

"Yes, you are! Anabel sent me up here to come get you- by the way, you only have, like, five minutes to get dressed and grab everything you need, 'cause she only just told me."

Georgia looks beside herself with glee. I don't know what's gotten into her. "You're delusional," I say, head still cloudy with sleep. "Ms. March said I can't, I'm not allowed-"

"Anabel talked with her this morning, and convinced her to let everyone come. It's our last big trip before graduation, so it's only fair that everyone gets to enjoy it."

Shaking my head, I climb out of bed and start leafing through my closet for something passable. "You'd better not be joking, cause if I have to get up for nothing..."

But as it turns out, she's serious. We're one of the last ones down to the buses, though, and as we hurry down the steps- me, carrying my Nikes in one hand and half my medicine cabinet in the other- Anabel rushes up to us. "Oh, Chanel, I'm so happy you made it," she gushes. "Francine was stubborn, but I convinced her that we ought to let you kids have your fun in your last days here. Aren't you excited?"

She's far too chipper for eight in the morning. All I can muster is a quick nod before I'm at the table in front of the buses.

"Chanel Agresti," I state.

"Here you are. Bus One. Hurry up." The man ushers me up the steps, but I wait for Georgia, who's next in line.

"Evers... Georgia Evers... You're on Bus Two, sweetheart."

"Wait a second," I say. "Evers and Agresti are pretty close together. Why aren't we on the same bus?"

"Oh, they're not alphabetical," Anabel chimes. "They were randomly selected. Luck of the draw, you could say!"

 _Ugh. Whatever._ "Meet me in front of Starbucks when we get there," I tell Georgia, and she nods. I raise my makeup bag. "I need to put all this on... and eat something..."

I climb the steps and scan my bus. Up in front, Jeremiah and Freya- they're inseparable- share a seat. Harper sits alone across the aisle. My friends Eimer and Alaina are sitting together near the back. There's no room next to them, but only a row up, there's a spot next to another girl, Audrey. When I sit down next to her, she plugs her headphones in and turns away towards the window.

The bus behind us starts up and pulls out of the driveway. One of the teachers up in the front of ours takes attendance one last time. A few minutes later, we've started up too, and finally are out and onto the road.

I take a look out the back window of the bus as we leave, hoping to watch the school vanish into obscurity behind the trees. Instead, my gaze is captured by yet another black limousine, which glints in the sun before disappearing back towards Haversmith Academy.

* * *

 **Million Dollar Bills by Lorde.**

* * *

 **Well, it's finally here, and I hope you're all as excited as I am. I've been planning a rewrite of Darkest Desires ever since the original story was discontinued back in October, so I guess this has been a long time coming. I couldn't commit to working on it through the spring, since it was my junior year and I was playing two sports while trying to live through the hell that is AP tests, but summer has given me a chance to finally bring this baby back. I can't wait to see where it takes us!**

 **I hope this chapter didn't drag on too long. I don't know when it reached 6,000 words, honestly. This was just an introduction to what's to come- you could consider it a third prologue, after the two that Corey posted. Go read them on his page, I'm not going to copy and paste them here. I'm much more excited for the next few chapters, as the students will begin to interact and there will be far more action and drama.**

 **My plans for this story- I have not been able to get in contact with Corey since he left this site, so while I think it's only fair that I ask his permission before I use his verse and essentially his ideas, I haven't heard anything yet, so I'm going to be posting the first few chapters now. If he decides he'd rather I not write this, then I will honor that request. For now, though, I'm going to keep working.**

 **I do plan to stick to his original placements, meaning if your tribute finished last, I'm sorry, but they will still be last. It makes it less complicated for me than to try to come up with 30 new placements, especially because, biased as I am, Chanel would probably still win. The only exception I may make to the list is Jasper's spot. His creator requested that I not use him, so I will likely just add an OC in to fill that spot and let the other tributes take care of him.**

 **I did not originally plan to write multiple POVs- the plan for a long time was just to write about Chanel, hence this introduction- but as I started receiving your guys' tributes, I found I wanted to do more with your characters than just mention them, or have a few conversations. However, I'm still not sure how many tributes I will be writing for. I may just handpick a few and keep it simple for now, since this is my first crack at a SYOT and I don't want to get in over my head. The others will still be very present in the story; I may just not write from their perspectives. Some of them are amazing but just intimidating AF, and I honestly have no clue what to do with them. I want to try to write everyone, but we'll see if it works out.**

 **Hmm, what else? Oh yeah. A HUGE thank you to everyone who supported this by sending me your forms, I probably wouldn't even have posted a chapter without you. Seriously, I tried to figure all these characters out just by their blog post, and once I started getting forms I realized I was dead wrong about pretty much everyone. So you helped me avoid a major crisis there.**

 **Might do another blog, just for shits. Just to keep track of placements and things. Undecided.**

 **Also, this is a working title and I'm considering switching it up. Let me know your thoughts on that, if you really care what this thing is called.**

 **I'm still looking for Alexander, Madison, Gwen, Harper, Dane, Doran, Nico, Shane, Trina, Giles, and Quincy, so if anyone knows who made any of those characters, please shoot me a message so that I can get in contact with them! (especially Alex, since he's the only one out of the top 13 tributes whose form I don't have)**

 **The basic premise, for the lone straggler who hasn't read Darkest Desires, yet somehow made it this far down the page: 30 seniors from a prestigious boarding school are kidnapped and forced to murder each other for a million dollar cash prize. Be the last one standing, and the money is yours. Fail to eliminate all of your competition within one week, and you are executed anyway.**

 **Anyways… It's 4 a.m. I'm exhausted. Alice Kingsleighs insisted I post this now, so while I did proofread the whole thing, I'm still not sure this is even English.**

 **Hope you enjoy, and shoot me a review if you can. Would love to hear your thoughts!**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is property of Suzanne Collins. The Hunting Club concept, the related characters, and this story's placements are JabberjayHeart's, and the tributes are yours. I only own the story I've imagined around them.**


	2. Fairly Local

**Some things to note before reading:**

 **I messed some stuff up. Mainly, names. I think I mentioned last chapter that Jasper is not in this story, so I replaced him with an OC, who's currently named Wesley. For maybe the first 12 hours the first chapter was up, he was named Brendan, but I realized having a Brandon and a Brendan could get confusing. If you read the first chapter after about a day or so, you won't notice any difference. For those who read it right away, this is what I've fixed.**

 **Anyways. It's been more than two months, which is kind of ridiculous... so without further ado, here is Chapter 2!**

* * *

 _The world around us is burning, but we're so cold_

 _It's the few, the proud, and the emotional_

* * *

 **Jeremiah Whittaker.**  
 **Calgary, Alberta.**

* * *

This was the perfect day to get off campus.

Don't get me wrong, Haversmith is incredibly special. No school I've ever gone to compares to the experiences Haversmith has given me. And nothing beats the view from the seventh floor, with trees and sky extending for miles in every direction. But you start to feel like a captive, all cooped up inside the same building for weeks on end. There's only so far your mind will take you when you're staring at the same four walls of a classroom, day after day. You run out of things to talk about, or, in my case, write about. For creativity's sake, I had to get out.

It's a very exciting day, and the bus is even louder than normal. We're so rarely allowed outside the academy's gates that when we do get to go into town, it's a huge deal. I think everyone can agree that days like this are what we have to look forward to most. Some kids plan this day for a month. Where they'll shop, what they're buying, where they'll be eating their expensive lunches. Me? I don't really have much of an agenda. I'll keep my eye out for a photo gallery, a bookstore, or someplace else that'll be stimulating yet uncrowded. But I don't really mind where I go, as long as I get a change in scenery.

Freya, on the other hand, knows exactly what she'll be doing. "Do you think that little salon is open right now?" she wonders. "I want to go early so my nails look nice all day. I really hope it's not too crowded so that they can focus on my toes. They have to be super nice because my heels for graduation are open-toe. Ooh! Do you remember if they have massage chairs there?"

I smile. It's just like her to act so giddy over a nail appointment. "I wouldn't know, Frey. You're the expert here."

It's something of a joke between us. Both Freya and I know that she's clueless about nearly everything. I'm unquestionably the more intellectual of the two of us, the thinker. She trusts me to make most decisions for her. But when it comes to clothes, beauty, or designing, she suddenly becomes a whole new person. They're her real passion and forte. She makes me look foolish in that regard.

People always seem so surprised that our friendship has lasted this long, because we're really not much alike. But I think that's what draws us together. We balance each other out.

Next to me, Freya laughs and continues gushing over... well, I've lost track. I'm glad she doesn't mind when I zone out, because then we'd have a problem. She likes to talk, while I like to think. We accept that. But I've let my mind slip out the bus window and down to the freeway below, where weathered station wagons and mid-2000s Toyotas slip past beneath the bus. They wouldn't normally catch my eye, but the nature of this trip being what it is, well… I've had a lot of time to reflect on the consumerist ideals of our society. Or, on a smaller scale, our academy. To us at boarding school, those so-called average cars are embarrassing, unacceptable. Most of the class would rather walk than be seen driving anything outdated or beat-up. I can't pretend to be a better person than anyone else in that sense, but I do wish people would understand how lucky they are to have lives like this. We're hopelessly sheltered and blinded to the world outside our boarding school bubble. That's one more thing nice about going into town- we get a little perspective. Even the smallest reminder is better than none.

The pair in the seat behind us, for example, really feels negatively about the fact that today, we're riding an ordinary yellow school bus, contrary to the spotless, air conditioned shuttles we've grown accustomed to. I don't love the smell, either, but the bus does its job, so I can't complain much. Even Freya, who's obsessed with cleanliness and organization, doesn't mind- although part of me wonders if she's just happy it bears resemblance to the Magic School Bus, as she told me when we got on. Quincy and Giles, on the other hand, only want to complain about the cracked, slimy seats and dusty windows, which won't budge.

"This sucks," Giles grumbles. "This stupid bus is making me sick. Why couldn't they just pay for something that wasn't complete shit for once?"

"This whole place is shit, dude. My dad always says that if we weren't graduating next week, he would have pulled me out already. We always get the worst of everything."

Part of me wishes I was brave enough to turn around and tell them that they're being ignorant, but I know it's not my place. I just feel like there are better things to worry about than how much gum is on your seat. It's only thirty minutes of our lives, after all.

Except— we've been on this bus for much longer than we should have. Checking my phone, I find that it's nearly nine o'clock. By now, we should have already stopped in Conway and scattered, not to be seen for eight glorious hours. But for whatever reason, we're still going. Actually, the exit signs here are unfamiliar to me— these are not streets I've heard of. Either I'm delusional, or our driver is horribly lost. I suspect the latter. Four seats in front of us, Anabel keeps leaning forward to talk to the driver, then leaning back, then, seemingly aggravated, giving him more directions. I don't mind a longer drive, but I do want to make sure I have time to enjoy this last day in Conway. I mean, it's just graduation after this, so I don't suspect I'll ever be here again. I want to have time to enjoy my last trip.

No one else seems to have noticed any difference in our surroundings, and I trust that Anabel, at least, knows how to get us into town. Yet the longer we drive, the more unfamiliar the roads begin to look, and the more I become convinced that we're heading in the entirely wrong direction. And is it just me, or are we starting to go higher?

"Freya, does this street look familiar to you?" I ask, as we take a slow exit onto a narrow, winding road.

She looks out the window. At the sight of trees, not designer stores, she frowns. "Where's the town?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to figure out where we are." But when I pull out my phone, there's no service. "Do you have connection?"

She shakes her head.

Hmm. This is definitely unusual. Minutes pass, and I'm still offline. I turn around, looking to see if anyone else has the same problem. Most people are either plugged into their music or enjoying loud conversations, so it's hard to tell at first. A couple kids roll their eyes at their phones and put them down, but that doesn't tell me anything. Then I spot Audrey, near the very back. She's fiddling with her headphones—then, when that doesn't solve the problem, tries shaking her phone. Nothing comes from it, apparently, and her expression shifts from mild frustration to sheer panic in a matter of seconds.

"Hey, Frey," I say quietly. "I don't think anyone has service."

"Why not?"

"I don't know." I look out the front of the bus, where the trees are opening up into… what, exactly? There's wide open sky ahead, but I can't tell what's past the road. "I just wish I knew where we were…"

Freya can tell you that she may not know much about anything, but she does know me very well. And the difference between us is, she's got no shame about standing up and saying what I'm thinking. "Hey! Where are we going?"

There's a lot of nasty laughter from the seat behind us, but it dies as soon as people start looking out the window. Gone are the streetlights we were expecting, the chain restaurants, the overpasses. On our left is the green, forested side of a mountain. On our right, a silver barrier, and, a hundred feet down, the very tips of treetops. And yes, we are definitely going higher.

"Where are we going?" Anabel repeats. "I'm so glad you asked!" She moves to stand at the front of the bus. "If you all would face forward for me, and sit quietly. I'd recommend paying attention for this, because it's news you're not going to want to miss."

There's a collective squeaking as people straighten in their seats. Eventually, everyone quiets down.

"There has been a slight change in plans," she says. "I apologize for not letting you know sooner, but we didn't want to ruin the surprise. We— the teachers and staff— have decided that rather than force you all to take tests and finish projects during the last few days of your senior year, we'd give you a chance to do something a little more adventurous. So, your last three days of school have been cancelled in lieu of something special that we've been planning for you all year."

No more classes? That grabs everyone's attention. A few people begin muttering, but they're quickly shushed. Everyone, for once, wants to listen to Anabel.

"We have realized that, despite the school's proximity to these beautiful mountains-" she motions out the window, as we continue to climb higher and higher- "the majority of you have never actually been out here. With so little time before you graduate, we toyed with the idea of a day trip, but we didn't think that would have done this place justice, or been much fun for most of you. Instead, we're announcing an overnight stay. You students will stay in the mountains for three nights, bonding, enjoying the scenery, and making memories together!"

The bus lurches as it pulls onto a dusty road, and my ears pop with the elevation. Three nights? That seems like a long time, but if I'm being honest, the thought of being in the mountains is a pleasant surprise. We're so distant from everyone up here, and I'm already feeling more relaxed. No work to do, no tests… just freedom.

But I wonder why they would wait to tell us. It would make sense to let us know in advance, surprise or not. Just to tell us what to pack, so we aren't completely caught unprepared out here. My outfit's very versatile— t-shirt, loose jeans, and runners— but Freya's all dressed up in sandals and a flowy dress. It'll be good for the heat, but no so much for any physical exercise.

We rattle down this road, and as we go further and further from the main drive, the trees seem to swallow us, blocking the sun and sky. It's disorienting, and I wonder, the deeper we go, what we might find in here.

Moments later, we come around a wide bend and finally emerge into a small, shady clearing. Ahead of us extends a wide wooden lodge, about the size of our gymnasium back at school. Among the trees, smaller, worn cabins dot the landscape, and in between, narrow trails weave among the ferns and wildflowers and disappear in all directions. There are no electric poles, no wires. And, no doubt, no service.

But the scenery is magnificent.

This is nothing close to Conway. But— I'll be blunt— it already looks one hundred times better.

"Hope you packed your hiking boots," Anabel says. "Welcome to the White Mountains!"

* * *

 **Shane Curran.  
** **Toledo, Ohio.**

* * *

This day just keeps on getting worse.

First, I had to wake up before noon, which I was _really_ hoping to avoid. But fate seems to hate me, and someone decided I should be allowed on this field trip after all, even after I may or may not have come to class drunk and busted a window. My roommate Tyler announced this great news by pouring ice cold fucking water all over me. And then I had to go run down to the bus wearing the first shirt I could find, which I'm about 90% sure belongs to a girl.

Nice going, Shane.

Then, I wasted an hour of my life on this piece of crap bus, only to find out that— _surprise!_ — we're not actually going to town today, and actually, we're going to be living together on the side of a mountain for three days. Without service. Whoop-dee-doo! What could be more fun than that?

Death by acid, probably.

The thing that's so weird is that Haversmith isn't the type of school to spring something on us like this. Everyone's so anal about getting parent permission and triple-checking everything that we'd normally be bound to find out, even if we weren't typically told weeks in advance. Yet as far as I know, no one had any idea about this trip. I'd give Anabel props if I wasn't convinced she just threw this thing together last-minute.

Around me, kids are slowly getting to their feet and pulling their bags and backpacks out from under the seats, but one of the teachers shouts at us to leave our bags on the bus, that they will be taken directly down to our cabins. Cabins? I glance out the window down at the huts scattered around the lodge. They're barely bigger than the bathrooms in our dorms. They can't mean those?

Apparently, others have the same thought. "We have to stay in _those_?" Alaina hisses to Blake, carefully stepping around the white handbag at her feet. "Not gonna happen. I'm sending myself home. Have fun eating spiders."

"Hey, hold up," I say. "If you're going, I'm going too. You can't just let us suffer here."

Alaina shoots me a dirty look, staring me down with those strange grey eyes. It's her signature look; paired with her wild blonde hair and impressive height, it's no wonder she's one of the most feared girls in the school. Not by me— I'll challenge her any day of the week. But there's something cold in her expression that has given her an abusive level of power. I see it in the hall sometimes; the freshmen scatter, heads down, when they see her. She can control them with just the coldness in her expression.

"Like I'd let you come with me," she says, finally breaking our gaze to roll her eyes. "Besides, I'm sure you could get yourself kicked out of here in the next ten minutes if you really tried."

It's true. Aside from Gabrielle, probably, I've got to have the record for most detentions and in-school suspensions of anyone at Haversmith. The first couple of years, it was mostly vandalizing. Stealing from people's dorms and lockers. Flooding the bathrooms. Small stuff. But the last two years, I've stepped up my game. I broke in and trashed the headmistress' office for a dare. They found molly in my bag a few months ago, and flipped their shit over that. No, getting in trouble is not something I'll have any problems with.

But if I'm gonna be kicked off this trip, I don't need to prove to anyone that I can do it in ten minutes. Whatever stunt I pull, I want to make it _good._

I'm the last off the bus, after waiting for everyone else to go ahead so I can root through their bags. But two teachers are waiting for me at the front, so I have to settle for an old twenty dollar bill and the last of a box of cigarettes, which I shove into my pockets. One teacher raises an eyebrow as I pass, but chooses to say nothing. I follow the other students across the dirt road and down the rickety wooden steps, which lead us to the doorway of the lodge.

We file inside, craning our necks to get a look at the place. Unfortunately, it's not much more special than the outside. Though wide and open, the room is lit only through dusty skylights and the single doorway behind us, leaving the corners in shadow. Beat-up folded chairs are arranged in rows, forming a half arc around the center, where two men and a woman look to be waiting for us. As we come inside, my attention is drawn to the walls, where many more adults sit, watching us. They range from a few years older than us, to sixty or seventy years old. Some of them whisper to one another, not taking their eyes off of us. It's creepy.

"Find a seat, kids!" Anabel says. She strides up to the front, where she shakes hands with each of the men and the woman in turn. I choose a spot near the back and try to ignore the old guy at the wall behind me, who I'm pretty sure hasn't blinked the whole time we've been in here.

"I'd like to introduce you all to an old friend of mine," Anabel continues, grinning. "Mr. Caville is none other than our nation's Secretary of Education, and he has kindly taken a break from his duties to oversee our trip here. Let's give him a round of applause!"

Secretary of Education— that's more like it. I was starting to worry we wouldn't have any special privileges here. Being a prestigious boarding school and all, we're conditioned to expensive tastes and influential people. Still, the most he gets is a weak patter of applause, which he shrugs at.

"Good morning," he says, stepping forward. "It's great to see all of you— so glad you all made it out here safely. I'm sure you all are dying to know what, exactly, this trip entails, so I'll keep this short."

He pulls a stack of papers off the seat behind him and hands them to Seraphina, in the front. She begins passing them down the row.

"Think of this excursion as less of a school field trip, and more of a retreat," Mr. Caville says with a smile. "You will be out here for three nights, participating in a number of camp activities, learning, and getting the rare chance to enjoy the world around you. This trip is designed to allow you to reflect on your four years at the Academy, as well as on the friendships you've made with those next to you. It's an exciting opportunity, and I invite you to make the most of it."

The papers reach my end, and I pull a pamphlet off the top. On the front underneath a generic stock photo of the mountains are the words "Experience the adventure of a lifetime!" in fake, poison-green lettering. The inside just looks like an overload of fun facts and descriptions. Statistics and things. Too much reading. I set it aside.

"You may also have noticed a number of our staff along the walls." Yeah, you'd have to be blind and stupid not to. "They will be participating in a number of the same exercises you will, and some will even be your leaders for group activities. I promise you, they are perfectly friendly, and they are only here to help you and to support you."

Somehow, I'm not fully convinced. A dark young man in the corner has had the same smug smirk on his face for the past five minutes. And something about that redhead's expression is unnerving to me— as her gaze falls upon each of us in turn, I can't help but get the feeling she's scanning for the weakest of us—to pick out and crush under her heel.

"Each of you has been placed into a group of four other students, with whom you will hike, partake in activities, and hold discussions together. While you will have the chance to work and interact with everyone here, those four will be your closest companions for much of this trip, so I urge you to show each other the proper respect and courtesy."

Yeah, okay, sure. No one's going to pretend to be nice to each other just because some guy said we should. I definitely won't. I may have my shortcomings, but at least I'm not fake- there are those I respect, and those I don't. I'd just better hope the people I'm partnered with aren't total idiots, or else I'm dragging them down with me.

"You will also be selected for a cabin with two other students. Yes, the cabins are small, but please, try to make do with the space you have, and be courteous of your roommates. Your daily schedules will be posted each morning on your doors, with all new activities each day. The only thing that will not change is your meal schedule— breakfast at eight sharp, lunch at one, and dinner at six. Simple enough, yes?

"One more thing, before I forget. We understand that, of course, none of you brought clothes or toiletries suited to an outdoors trip. You will be able to pick up a bag with enough clothing and supplies for the extent of this trip when you choose your cabins, but that won't be until this afternoon, after lunch. But first things first. Does anyone have any questions about anything I just covered?"

In a display of participation never before seen in any American classroom, ten hands immediately shoot into the air.

"Do we get to choose our cabins?" Brandon asks. "And, follow-up question, how many girls can be in mine?"

"Cabins are random," Mr. Caville says. "And… none. They are single-sex. That should go without saying." Brandon pouts, to scattered laughter. "And stay out of each other's rooms. Teachers _will_ be coming around to make sure everyone's in their correct bed by ten each night. You, on the right." He points to Harper.

"Can we go home?"

"No."

"But the bus is right there."

"No one's going home," he says. "Your parents have paid for you all to be here, and everyone is staying for the duration of the trip. No exceptions. You, left side."

Audrey sits up straight. "What's the wifi password?"

"No wifi." He forces a smile. "In fact… Thank you for the reminder. Giselle, would you be a dear and go collect phones for me, please?"

Audrey's mouth drops open. " _What_?"

"There's no service here, and no electricity. This will at least ensure that no one loses anything. Phones, please."

I probably would try to fight Giselle if I could, but she's too pretty, too dainty. I'd feel bad. I give in and put my phone in the box. Others, however, are far less willing. Yuto tries to claim he left his on the bus, but Simone, sitting behind him, pulls it out of his back pocket and hands it over. Audrey straight up refuses to give hers up; Giselle has to physically wrench the thing from her grasp.

"Thank you," Mr. Caville says, satisfied, as Giselle returns the box of newly confiscated phones. "Any other questions?"

Those three questions— and their poor results— have been enough to sate all but one of the remaining hands. "Yeah, I have a question," announces Jackson. He motions extravagantly to the rest of the room. "Where is everyone else?"

"An excellent observation," says Mr. Caville. "Due to limited cabin space, we decided to split the class into two groups, one of which is across the mountain at our sister site. At the end of the trip, we will hike together up to the peak for a class lunch. For the next three days, however, you will be separated from each other. I hope you'll manage."

A few people look disappointed that they won't be seeing their friends until Friday, but I'm not really bothered. As far as I'm concerned, the fewer, the better. Less people I have to deal with. Less people I'm going to have to act like I'll miss when I leave this school. No, I like having my space. It's not lonely, it's comfortable. It's just the way I roll.

No one else has any questions after that. Mr. Caville thanks us for our attention, then directs us outside, where snacks are waiting on a fold-out table. "Make sure you eat enough to keep you going until lunch," he advises. "We'll be out in the sun for the next couple of hours."

Outside, gnawing on a bagel, I go around the back of the lodge. There's a deck here that overlooks much of the valley. From here, I can see a large lake down below, dock included. There's an amphitheater, a mess hall, and more tiny cabins. The skies are cloudless, and birds float above.

It's nice. If you're into that nature spirit shit sort of thing. But it's not for me.

The way I see things, we've got about eight hours until dinner. If I can cause some kind of horrible mess before then, I can almost guarantee I won't be here tonight or for the rest of the trip. It's going to be a heavy task, but if I can pull something out in these conditions, I can do it anywhere. And I'm up for that challenge.

Bitches better watch their backs. These adults won't even know what hit them.

* * *

 **Mariana Brinley.  
** **Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.**

* * *

"This place is beautiful," I sigh. "I can't believe how lucky we are to be out here."

It's so freeing out here. So much fresh air, and a stunning view for miles. We're up with the clouds! And I always thought the vista from my dorm window was incredible. This is something else.

Seven or eight, maybe, of the staff have started off our trip by leading us straight up a hill, and while it's near excruciating to try to hike in wedges and a sundress, it's something I'll more than put up with. It's worth it, being surrounded by flowers and trees and sky. Out in the wild, there's so little to worry about. And so little pressure out here to act like someone I'm not.

Oh, who am I kidding? That's the fun of it all.

"I couldn't imagine a better outcome," I continue, keeping that smile firm on my lips. "I mean, one minute we're on a stinky old bus, thinking we're just going to go walk around a town for a few hours, and now look at us! No school, no phones, no anything. Just think of all the adventures ahead of us!"

"You're killing me, Mar," Griffin whines. "It's so hot out here. And… yucky. Why couldn't we just be inside?"

"Hey, it's not my fault you wore black jeans. Come on, chin up! This is going to be so much better than you think. Admiring nature… making friends..."

"You're crazy," he says, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'm literally melting. Like Elphaba when she touched water."

"Oh, please," I scoff. "She didn't even melt. It was all a ruse so she could escape with Fiyero. You should know."

"Whatever," he says, waving me off. "I'm still dying. I want fro-yo…"

In all honesty, I'd rather be in town today, too. It would be hundreds of times better for my arms to be dropping with the weight of Sephora and Anthropologie bags than my calves burning from this gross exertion. But what can I do about it? What can any of us do? Nothing. I've accepted that, and I'm willing to do what I can to enjoy my time out here.

Which mainly entails messing with the people who really _don't_ want to be here.

"Oh, Jacksonnn," I sing out.

His expression as he turns around is so sour at first that it's all I can do not to burst out laughing. I mean, the kid's wearing a full on _suit_ , for God's sakes. They're all he wears. After classes, on weekends, even when we go into town. Maybe he even sleeps in them (I wouldn't know). Mud's already begun to stain the fabric around his ankles, and his face is pink with heat, exertion, and the beginning of a sunburn. He tries to fix his grimace into a neutral expression, but it's clear that he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"Mariana." He nods politely, but curses under his breath as he slips in the dirt, feet sliding out from under him. He manages to catch himself, though, which is a little disappointing from my end. Not because I hate the kid, but because, well, he almost fell on his face. It would have been funny. "It's my loafers," he explains, red-faced, as he straightens. "How could I have known we'd be hiking up the side of a _mountain_?"

It's a fair question. We had no hints about any of this, which, while it makes for a successful surprise, isn't a very practical approach. I'm just lucky I had the good sense not to wear my grey three-inch boots. I mean, I kind of regret it, since honestly they would have been way cuter than the wedges. But hey, can't have it all.

"So, how excited are you to be out of school early?" I say, carefully stepping around a pile of deer droppings. Gross _._ "No place like the mountains, right?"

"Not exactly," he says, frowning. "What about finals? What about all the study guides I made?"

"...Seriously?"

He looks peeved. "Believe it or not, colleges _do_ care about second-semester grades. I would hate to have my acceptance voided because I never had the chance to boost my grades."

"Hey, no offense," Monica cuts in from my right. "But I'm pretty sure you still have straight A's in every class. I mean, I think you might have mentioned it one or seventeen times."

"Hey, grades are important. What's a college going to think if twenty percent of my grade is missing?"

"That you actually have a life?"

"Hey, hey, hey," I say. "Come on, now. We're not out here to bicker. I thought we were here to make friends with each other."

" _I'm_ only here because there's no way home for three days," says Jackson. "I _should_ be back at school, actually doing something worthwhile."

"Like making out with a picture of Ms. Langley?" I grin.

"Oh, grow up," he says, shaking his head. "I'm not that immature."

"He's just bitter because she won't actually hook up with him," says Monica.

Funny, that wasn't the rumor I'd heard. Angela and Lenore both told me they'd heard that someone had actually seen them making out in an empty classroom one time. I don't believe it, though. Jackson may be attractive, but he's not that attractive that a teacher would risk her career for him. At least, I wouldn't. He's too formal and stiff and can't really take a joke. And he's a little _too_ pretentious, even by my standards. For what it's worth, I think people are just jealous he's smarter than them and are willing to make things up to drag his ego down. But he's up so high already that they're going to need to make a better effort.

"I'm a serious student. I would never pull anything like that." Jackson glares- first, at me, for dragging him into this, then at Monica, for her role. "It would tarnish my reputation, and she's just my teacher. She likes me a lot because I'm the best in the class and I work hard. There's nothing else going on."

"I trust you, Jackson. But if there _were_ something else…" I giggle- it's pushing it, though, it's a little _too_ high-pitched and phony, but the boy's so self-absorbed I doubt he registers it anyway. "Well, I just want you to know I would always support you, every step of the way. It's your life, your choice!"

He shakes his head. "Just give it a rest, alright? You're blowing things way out of proportion. We were talking about this retreat and colleges and adult things. Now, sorry to be a downer, but let's go back to making conversation over things that actually matter, hm?"

Monica raises an eyebrow, but lets the topic drop.

For me, it's too fun. Too easy. Obviously, I'd never support something like that, but my rule of thumb is, if it earns a reaction, it's worth saying. After four years of this, you'd think someone would have caught on, but I guess people haven't figured me out if they still take me seriously. I'll exaggerate. I'll switch roles in a heartbeat if I want to. If all the world's a stage, I'm the only one who truly takes advantage of it. Any given moment is a new chance to shine.

The slope flattens out, and we come onto an open clearing. A lone folding table sits at the end of the trail, grasses flowing and swaying around it. One man sits in the center, a clipboard flat in front of him, while the rest of the students begin to approach. Towering red and white pines circling the clearing graze an endless sapphire sky, and beyond them, the faraway tips of mountains peek between the trunks.

It may have been hell for my feet to get up here, but I'll be honest— the view from the top is well worth it.

"Welcome, students," the man at the table says as we approach. "Please form a line in front here, then give me your names one by one. I will direct you to your groups, and we can begin your first activities.

We fall into line. First up is Simone, who skips right up. "Simone," she sings, bouncing up and down. "Simone Collins. S-I-M-O-N-E, C-O-L-L-I-N-S."

"Simone, Simone... here you are. Group Five. Zara, my dear, would you come take Miss Collins?"

An intense-looking brunette with a lengthy, lean frame emerges from the group coming up behind me. The t-shirt and cargo shorts she wears look out of place with her shining, straight hair and made-up face. Simone skips right up and offers her a hand to shake, which Zara callously ignores. Awkwardly, the pair move out into the field to wait for the rest of us.

"Imagine being put on a team with _that_ one," says a husky voice, hushed, from behind me. "That Zara chick might be nice to look at, but honestly. Collins is a nightmare."

I'm not surprised to find Wesley Byrne staring right back at me when I turn around. "Well, she is. Don't tell me you actually like her."

I slip into an expression of serious concern. "Simone's a good friend of mine," I say. "I'd gladly be her teammate. She's truly compassionate and one of the realest girls I know."

He makes a face. "Well, you're mistaken. She's crazy, you know that, right?"

"At least she's got a personality," I say. "Geez, lighten up."

Brandon goes with a pretty dark-skinned woman, and Trina follows soon after. Next up is Alex Grim, who is led away by a man called Sawyer. Gwen, blowing bubbles that match her pink hair, joins Quincy and Seraphina with a tan, handsome man whose name I must have missed. _I want_ that _group. Even if Quincy's in it._

"Next."

I step forward. "Mariana Brinley," I say with a curtsy.

The man doesn't look up. "Group Three."

Straight ahead. Three students stand around a man with brown curls and a bristly jawline, and when he looks up, I meet a pair of narrow cobalt eyes. Oh, this will definitely do. I fit myself between Doran and Blake, then present a perfectly manicured hand for him to shake. "I'm Mariana. It's a pleasure to meet you. I absolutely can't wait for our next three days together."

He doesn't say anything at first, just narrows his eyes. My hand hangs stiffly between us. For several seconds, the tension mounts.

Then he sighs. "Milo," he finally says. "But don't pull any of that ass-kissing shit on me again. I can make your life hell in an instant if you give me a reason to."

My hand drops.

 _That wasn't supposed to happen…_

The five of us don't say another word until after Dane has come to round out our group. "Excellent," Milo says. "Now that we're all here, I'd like for us to have a nice little chat with one another. There are introductions that must be made. Disclaimers. All that. And for the sake of privacy, I suggest we put some distance between ourselves and the other groups. Shall we?"

He turns and begins moving towards the far treeline. The rest of us look at each other for a second, then hesitantly begin to follow. We've already learned not to question him.

I'm upset that he's upset with me. It wasn't meant to be disrespectful. It may have been a bit over the top, but I just never expected he'd call me on it. I'm used to people rolling their eyes, shrugging me off, or just flat-out ignoring me. Milo did none of that.

On the other hand, I'd hate to waste this beautiful day pouting. I ought to just move on from that and not dwell on it while I'm here. No use taking this lovely place for granted.

It's just unfair.

Ahead of me, Gabrielle is ignoring the rest of us, kicking at the dirt as she walks and generally looking murderous. Blake, on the other hand, tosses a football back and forth in his hands and walks with a spring in his step, like there's nowhere he'd rather be. Dane also looks interested and eager, but Doran, on his left, looks glum and sleepy.

It's a 50-50 split. Two are excited. Two are not. So where does that leave me? Putting on a brave front and making the most of things? Or being honest with my feelings about Milo, like Gabrielle and Doran?

When it's put that way, there's no question. I've got to play the more interesting part.

Not that I'm not typically optimistic, but my charming attitude is still a facade, at some level. It's impossible to be that peppy and confident all the time. But at least I can still look it.

And as long as I look like I'm a step ahead of everyone else, well... I am.

* * *

 **Madison Carell.**  
 **Coventry, Rhode Island.**

* * *

I don't say this about a lot of people, but Sawyer Krebbs is downright repulsive. As the others talk about their hobbies, interests, college plans— some version of an introduction, apparently, although of course we all know each other already— he constantly cuts them off, insults them, laughs loudly at a joke at their expense which no one else finds particularly funny. When Audrey shares, he spends the whole time eyeing her up and staring at her chest. He shuts Jackson down completely when he tries to suck up. Alex gets the least of it, but Sawyer still leaves him pale and silent.

Now all eyes turn to me.

"You," Sawyer says, lips curling into a smirk. "What would you like to share?"

He doesn't blink. I'd shrink away if I didn't think it was an intimidation tactic, if he wasn't trying to push me around. But I've dealt with his kind before. I'm not that easy to break.

"I'm Madison," I say, staring right back. "Eighteen years old, resident of Coventry, Rhode Island. I was in the spring play, I like English, and I cheer and dance. And I'm going to Emerson this fall. For college."

"Cheerleader. Of course." He grins, but it's anything but friendly. "You know, I've always been a fan of cheer. Slutty, underdeveloped bodies in tight skirts— that's definitely my style."

"That's... not what cheer's about." I don't even like cheering that much— it's more a way for me to stay active and keep my stunts in practice— but what he's saying is so wrong that I have no choice but to defend it. "Cheer is about athleticism, working with a team, and showing spirit. It's not about the uniform."

"Maybe not for someone with your figure."

"Oh, really?" I refrain from rolling my eyes. "My shoulders? Thighs? It's muscle. For strength. It's the thing that lets me and the other girls do stunts and flips. We're not just skinny girls in spandex."

"Sure, sure. Just give me a call when you lose ten pounds. I'm sure I could still tame you into something submissive."

There are varying degrees of reaction from around the circle. Jeremiah's jaw drops. Audrey turns furious. "How dare— you can't—"

"Forget about it," I shush her. "It was a joke."

"It wasn't a joke," Sawyer clarifies. "And I wouldn't say no to her, either. The things I could do to that body..."

"You're disgusting," Audrey spits, eyes ablaze. "Disgusting. I can't believe you could just say that to a girl."

"You'd be surprised how often I actually get a positive reaction from that line."

"Do you do this often?" Audrey asks, face still red. "Like, lead these little groups and perv on all the girls or whatever you're here for?"

"Technically, you're all legal, so it's not perving." He wiggles his eyebrows. "But no, I haven't been here in a few years. I tend to avoid this kind of babysitting gig if I can help it."

"Well, it shows," she says. "You've really got a terrible attitude for working with high school kids."

"The irony," he groans. "Look, hon, you don't make it any easier on me. High school was not long enough ago for me to forget what kind of hell it was. There's no easy way to deal with kids like you. You're self-righteous, you're stuck up, you think you've got all the answers. The only 'attitude' you'll accept from me is indifference, and unfortunately for you, I do care what kinds of things you get up to out here. Because if one of you gets hurt, I get in trouble for it. So that's not going to happen."

"If you hate kids so much, then why did you come back?" I ask. _More like, why did they_ let _him back, if he's completely opposite of what a proper "mentor" should be?_ But I'm still doing my best to maintain both Audrey's and my calm, and I doubt pointing this out will help matters.

His gaze locks back onto me. "I didn't exactly go looking for this position. They had a spot open up out of the blue, they contacted me, I said sure, I'll come. It's good money. Simple as that." Then he narrows his eyes. "But I'm sure that's all familiar to you, hm?"

To me? Of course not— I've never met him until today. Then I begin to draw a connection between his reason for being here and my own. Which is unsettling, since I'm not ever that open about my family or my personal history. A year or so ago, my family was met with a similar scenario when a hospital up in a tiny New Hampshire town rang my dad's office, and a couple of weeks later, we relocated 250 miles north. Dad was offered a pretty substantial sum to be the new head surgeon at the hospital up here, though we're still not sure why they wanted him, of all the doctors they might have called.

The connections are striking, but they're not as noteworthy as the fact that a man I've barely met has already somehow heard about this.

"How do you know about that?"

"I know a lot, sweets," he smirks. "I've got more in my head than you'd ever dream of. So I'd be careful with your tongue if I were you. If you get on the wrong side of me, something might just... slip."

My pulse skips. In a second, I swallow my momentary panic and push it aside. I won't give him any reason to diverge anything I don't want shared just yet. He's not worth a reaction, anyways. "I'll watch myself," I promise. "Don't worry."

Trouble is, he's already done the damage. I can see it in my groupmates' faces— in Jeremiah's, concern, but Jackson's eyes light up at the concept of someone else's secrets. _Typical... he would want to hear my stories rather than the other way around, for once_. But Sawyer's set the spokes of the rumor mill spinning, and I'm going to need to do something to halt that. Because if there's one thing I've learned during my time at Haversmith, it's that when people want to know anything, they figure it out. Especially since any dirt on the new girl is coveted goods.

I've always thought I've guarded my secrets wisely. But I've got to stay on my toes if I really want to keep them sealed.

* * *

 **Gabrielle Harman.**  
 **Stockton, California.**

* * *

This discussion has been utterly pointless, which doesn't bode well for the rest of the trip. Not surprisingly. I mean, come on. Camping? With these idiots? And just when I was oh so close to sweet and total freedom.

Three days straight of detention ain't got nothing on this.

Seriously. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I just want to be back at Haversmith. I can't say I'm really friends with them, but the kids in detention are my people. These neurotic snots are not. The worst thing about it is that people are actually pretending like they're enjoying themselves. Mariana is the worst offender. Horribly, disgustingly hyper and excited, like it's the coolest thing ever she doesn't have to go to school today. News flash, we weren't even supposed to have full days of classes after yesterday anyway. And what is there to do out here? Sing songs? Watch some birds? I can't wait for everyone to come crashing back down to reality and remember that not only are there no phones out here, but there's also no escape from any of these people. The mood right now is a little too upbeat for my taste.

Our group has run out of things to share, so we mostly stay quiet, waiting for the other groups to finish up so we can go back to camp. Blake is the only one who seems to be making an effort with Milo; the rest of us have decided he's a lot cause, but Milo actually seems to be taking a liking to him. "So you're the big football star around here?"

"Quarterback," Blake grins, spinning the football in his hands.

"And how's your arm?"

"It's strong. Has to be, right? Do you play?"

"Not at all. Never been the athletic type."

"Well, can you catch?"

Milo eyes him up and down, creases his brow. "Sure," he says. "To some extent."

"Let's go, then." Blake jumps up. "Go long."

I watch them toss back and forth. Blake's got a good arm, but it's nothing special. Football's overrated anyways. No question, rugby's a truer test of your toughness. You don't get any safety net. No helmets or pads to protect you from skull-crushing hits, just your own grit and drive to keep you on your feet. It's less of a game and more of a war. You need a deeper respect for organized violence to make it in rugby. And that's what makes me so good.

People call it anger issues, say I'm rogue, untamable. It's the case of all the Harman siblings, courtesy of our phenomenally shitty and distant parents. I can't forget my anger, but sports, at least, give me some structured way to relieve that frustration. I wrestled for a long time before rugby captured my interest. It's much faster and far more dangerous— definitely my speed.

I've been following the ball in the air so lazily that I almost jump when another hand tips the ball out of the air. Brandon, from out of nowhere, tucks the ball into his side and takes off for the far end of the field. "And it's picked by Prescott! He's off to the races, and nobody can stop him. He's at the thirty... the twenty... the ten... TOUCHDOWN NINERS!" He spikes the ball into the grass and starts prancing around like an idiot.

"Oh, congrats," Blake jokes. "First thing you've caught all year that isn't herpes."

Brandon scoffs, mocking offense. "Hey, at least I get some action. That Adaline's a prude."

"Don't talk about my girlfriend like that," Blake says. "She's perfect. I don't care about any of that stuff."

"Don't try to hide it, Chapman. I know you want her."

I hop up. I'm done with this shit. Tearing the ball out of Brandon's hands, I say, "How about both of you just shut up and we actually do something with this." I press it into Blake's chest. "Me and Brandon, you and Milo. Full contact, two on two."

The boys frown, looking at each other, but quickly come to an unspoken agreement. "Sure," Brandon says. "I'm up for a game."

"Two on two is going to be tricky, though. Maybe Dane or Mariana—"

"Hell no. We'll figure this out ourselves," I say.

We're about to line up for our first play when Chanel comes barreling in, Quincy and Wes right behind her. "Holy shit, get me in on this," she says, setting up on the other side. "You don't mind, right? We saw you guys throwing from over there. Two on two doesn't really work, anyway."

"Works better than uneven teams," I say. "We can't play like this."

"I don't count," says Milo. "Go ahead. I'll watch... make sure you all don't kill each other."

I'm forced to glower at Chanel from across the line, but she doesn't look at me.

"Alright," Blake steps up. "Boundaries are from Doran over here to that far boulder. Let's play fair."

"Best of luck, ladies," Brandon grins.

Blake taps his fist. "I look forward to crushing you like dirt."

They may be joking, but I'm not. I don't lose. I don't care if this is only a pickup game. If Brandon's team wants to win this thing, they're going to have to go through me. And I'm not easy to beat.

Wes hikes the ball, and I take off downfield, Chanel pushing me the whole way. Brandon launches a throw into the sky over me. I shove my elbows into her, hoping she'll get the fuck off, but she fights back. As the ball comes down, it tips off my outstretched fingers, and we tumble to the ground.

"No catch," Milo rules.

I yank Chanel's ponytail as I get up, then stomp back to the line. "Watch your fucking throws, Prescott."

Brandon just shake his head and sets up for another play.

We score once. But Blake, when he's on offense, is dominant. He, Quincy, and Chanel are up by three touchdowns when four more kids find our game. "Oh my god, football?" Simone claps and stands on the other side. "I'm so playing." Giles, the creep, sets up next to me with Shane, who must have also been pulled from detention this morning. I'm pleased to see he looks just as pissed as I am.

Then Yuto comes bounding in on the other side. "Holy fuck, am I down for this."

"Yu, you hate sports," says Brandon.

"Yeah, I know. I'm just here to see you get the shit knocked out of you." He pushes Chanel and Blake aside. "So move your asses so I can get a good view."

Brandon, Wes, Shane, Giles and I line up against Blake, Quincy, Yuto, Simone, and Chanel, who pushes up towards me. If she wants to challenge me again, fine. She may have half a foot and forty pounds on me, but she's a pussy who can't handle physicality like I can. I'm about to show her who's tougher.

Wes shoots the ball into Brandon's hands. I push Chanel off me, jabbing an elbow into her face, and she recoils. I use this pause to push my distance towards the end of the field. Come on... come on... But when the throw comes—a dime this time— my foot catches on something and I stumble to my knees. I look up just in time to see Chanel scoop the throw out of the air and switch directions towards the other end line.

That bitch. She tripped me. No way in hell am I letting her score this. Milo doesn't call anything. Which just means I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands.

I scramble to my feet and race after her. Brandon is also converging on her, but I shove him out of the way. This is my hit to make. No one's getting in my way.

Ten yards from Doran, Chanel lets up, convinced she'll score easily.

 _Nice try._

I launch at her, grabbing around her waist, and pull her to the ground. Chanel shrieks. As we hit, my teeth clamp down on my tongue, drawing blood.

Chanel thrashes and rolls over, looking murderous. "You—bitch—you fucking bitch—" she struggles to get out, the wind knocked out of her.

"You fucking sabotaged me," I spit, bloody. "You earned that. Don't fucking cross me."

Milo tries to pull me off her, but then she's throwing fists, and I'm fighting to keep her down on the ground. He gets an elbow in the nose. Eventually Shane lifts me up and off of her. Blake pulls Chanel up and stands between us.

"I think we're done here," says Milo. Gone is that short-lived sense of good humor he had with Blake as he shoots glares at each of us in turn. "The other groups are done. We're going back to camp, and I'll have a nice _long_ chat with you two once we're there. Now, get the hell away from each other."

As we move back towards the clearing, Brandon whistles. "Damn, that was hot. Can't ever get enough of girl-on-girl action. Feel free to fight each other again, ladies."

Shane grabs my arm before I have a chance to do any more damage with it.

We walk back, silent. Fuming. At least, I am. For Chanel, she's never done a thing wrong in her life. I'm entirely at fault. Of course, I am. Poor, prissy Chanel, with all her boy troubles. She makes me sick.

A few feet ahead, she's arm in arm with Yuto and Brandon. Suddenly I notice something on the back of her jeans. A clean tear, all the way through her pants. Right at the bottom of her ass. No doubt, my doing. And the bitch has no fucking clue.

I smirk. At least there's some justice in this world.

* * *

 **Fairly Local by twenty one pilots.**

* * *

 **Hey...**

 **Yeah, it's been pretty long. I can't hide that. I also can't promise that future updates are going to be very quick- you can blame varsity volleyball, APs, and college apps for taking over my life right now- but there's a lot that I had to take care of before this chapter went up that won't be an issue in the future. Mainly, getting character forms. Thanks again to all who got back to me! The only form I'm missing is Alex's, but I'm kind of resigned to the fact that he's never going to show up. So we'll just do what we can with him.**

 **Also, huge shoutout to JabberjayHeart, who came back from the dead out of nowhere back in August (that's how overdue this chapter is, wow). I have no clue where he is now, but he was around for a bit and not only supports this project, but gave me a lot of direction as far as plotlines and plans he had. He also helped me find some of you guys for forms, so I owe him a ton for that.**

 **Basically, I did decide to go ahead and try to write multiple characters, and the format will be five a chapter for every chapter up at least until the Games. Trying to figure out each of these kids was definitely a challenge, but I'm really happy with how it's been going so far. I know some had more to say this chapter than others, but I'm trying to balance it out more in the future.**

 **Uhh, what else? Oh, yeah. I made a blog for this. Apparently that's a thing people do. It's not really that different yet from the old one that's still up, but I've switched some FC's around (the poses, not the actual person in the picture) and I will be updating it as we go. I'll put a link at the bottom.**

 **Updates on chapter status will be up on my profile.**

 **Finally, questions:**

 **General thoughts on each character?**

 **Who do you want to see next?**

 **Most importantly... not really... song recs? Unless you just wanna see Lorde and twenty one pilots every chapter. But seriously, help a girl out. I'm unoriginal.**

 **Thanks for all your patience! See you next time!**

* * *

 **Blog: themurderedhg at blogspot**


	3. Never Getting Older

**Chapter 3: Never Getting Older.**

* * *

 _Hey, tell your friends it was nice to meet them_

 _But I hope I never see them again_

* * *

 **Alaina Calline.**

 **Portsmouth, New Hampshire.**

* * *

This isn't as bad as I was expecting.

Not that it's ideal. Half my friends are gone, and most of these people I've hardly spoken three words to, but at least this dining hall isn't a total dump. Somehow this primitive place has come up with a reasonably attractive array of lunch food for us to choose from. Tall bowls of fruit and pasta salad. Simple sliders on plastic platters, and pitchers of cold lemonade and iced tea. Who knows what it will actually taste like, but at least it's not dried bugs.

Wielding a tray of salad and lemonade, I scan the room. Only a few students have sat down, the rest waiting to fill their trays. Rather than subject myself to the company of either Monica or Giles- as if- I find an empty table next to the far window. With the warmth and surprising softness of my chair, I want nothing more than to put my feet up and lounge back against it. But if there's one thing I've learned from my mother, it's that where there are other people, there will always be eyes on me. What I say and what I do are to be constantly scrutinized. The only acceptable way to act is like a lady- perfect and proper. So I keep my feet down, check my posture, and take as tiny bites as I can of my fruit- which is just a tad sour.

"Hey, loosen up, princess."

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry. _Queen_." Brandon slides in next to me as I roll my eyes. "Your group suck as bad as mine just did?"

"No, we were fine. Zara's kind of crazy, but it's Gerard, Eimer, Yu, Simone, and me, so we get along."

"Lucky you," he says. "I've got Rosalie- scratch that, she's fantastic- then Nico, Griff, Trina, and Harper, which doesn't sound so bad until you remember it's... Trina and Harper." He frowns. "Why do I never get the hot ones?"

"Because we're all off-limits," I say.

Blake plops down next to Brandon, a small mountain of sliders teetering precariously on his tray. "Well, Milo makes me want to stab my eyes out. How's everyone else's day been?"

"Ooh, I got to watch Gab and Chanel fight each other," Brandon says. "So that's not bad."

"I'm not surprised," I say. "They've never liked each other."

"What happened?" Eimer asks as she takes the seat next to Blake.

"One of them got tripped or something. Tripped. Can you say 'extra'?"

"Extra," Eimer says. "X-T-R-A."

I shake my head. "Eimer, honey. No."

She may be pretty, but Eimer's real charm lies in the nonsense that comes out of her mouth. It's part of why I keep her around so much. It's not like she can help it, and I love her, but come on. Next to her, I'm brilliant.

"It's because Gabrielle has zero sense of control," Blake presses on, as Wes, Simone, and Trina round out the table. "It's like if you put a raging bull inside a person and then set it on fire. Complete chaos."

"Where is she, anyway?" Nearly everyone has found a seat among the scattered tables; a few still mill around looking for their friends, but neither Gabrielle nor Chanel have made appearances. "It's no fun to talk about her when she can't be here to hear it."

"Milo's busy screaming at them outside," says Blake.

"How will that help?"

"It won't. It's only going to piss them off more."

"Exactly. You know, I wonder what kind of credentials you need to work at a place like this. I don't know how smart these leaders are, but from what I've seen and heard, everyone's been pretty rude and uptight."

"No more so than normal," I counter. "Teachers have always been… annoying."

"Not in an abusive way," he says. "I just feel like all these leaders should be a little more laid-back, seeing how we're supposed to be enjoying ourselves."

"Well, look who they're dealing with." Thirty high school seniors, absolutely aching to get the hell out of Haversmith and away from any type of authority. Largely bitter, frustrated, but just enthusiastic enough to rally against them if we wanted to. Plus, we've got rich parents. What do they have? "So does anyone know what we're doing next?"

"Someone said something about outdoor classes..." says Wes.

Simone groans loudly. "That is so unfair. Why would you let us out of school, just to make us go to another school?"

"It's the same concept as graduation, if you think about it."

Graduation. A chill tickles my neck. Less than a week away, it's no longer an abstract concept for me. My dress and shoes have been set out for a month. I've got a hair appointment for the morning of that I really should be thinking more about, but that's not what has me so excited for next Monday.

 _In the soft heat, I swallow a breath. The boy before me is called to muffled applause, and my heart throbs in my ears. In seconds, it will be my turn in the spotlight. My turn, finally, for the recognition I've worked so painstakingly to earn._

 _"Alaina Calline."_

 _The only shouts I hear are those of my mother. I have waited so long for this, to hear her call my name._

"Guys. Look at me. Do you realize how close we are to being Haversmith grads?"

Brandon whistles. "Dare I say it, but I think I might miss the ol' place."

I laugh. "Please."

"Well, I'll miss you guys. You all make it a joy to wake up and come to class every day. How about that?"

"That's even worse," Wesley says, wrinkling his nose. "Get out of here before I sock you for being sentimental."

 _Bang_.

Not Wesley's fist, but the door at the front of the hall.

It would appear that Gabrielle is back. And fuming.

As usual.

Just before the door slams shut behind her, a delicate hand catches it and pushes it back open. Anabel steps into the room, followed closely by Chanel, who's plastered a smug smirk across her face as she heads towards the food platters. She's faker than Eimer's chest, if you ask me, but I don't want to be too much of a hypocrite.

"Welcome back, kids," Anabel beams, stepping into the center of the tables. "Don't worry, you still have about ten minutes to finish eating. I'd just like to briefly introduce our next activity, so if you'd all give me your attention for a few quick moments…"

Brandon leans over to the next table. "This is a summer camp, yeah? What are the odds she lets us do archery?"

"Hey, I'll shoot you if you shoot me," says Yuto. Gwen smacks him.

I put a hand on Brandon's shoulder and pull him back. "Shh. I want to hear."

Anabel waits for our table to begrudgingly settle into murmurs, then coughs softly to clear her throat. "So we'll be combining groups for a couple of larger sessions. Groups One and Two will meet their leaders together outside. Three and Four are also together, and then Five and Six. It's just going to be three, half-hour stations for you all to get a basic introduction into some skills you can expect to need for our hikes. We'll have a wildlife course, survival skills, and you'll even get to test out our natural climbing wall and ropes course. So eat up, you'll want your energy this afternoon."

Chanel drops her overflowing tray down next to me. As she bends to pull a chair over, I notice a slight… wardrobe malfunction.

"Chan, your jeans…" I whisper.

"I know. Don't talk about it."

Not talking about it won't change the fact that half her ass is falling out. I wouldn't be surprised if she preferred it that way, but I'd have covered myself in an instant if it were me. It's not classy. She looks like she doesn't care what she looks like at all, and that's not the kind of thinking I can afford.

God. It's impossible to relax. Even here, where things are supposed to be easier. These are still the people that I've grown up with, and they wouldn't understand me if I suddenly became the type of girl who acts like a slob.

There are certain expectations that I act a way that is desired, regardless of how I feel. That's the best way to get people to like you- just know what they expect. You want fun? I'll give you fun. Cool and indifferent? I'm as cold as ice.

It's just scary because I've become so caught up in appearances that sometimes, I can't remember who I really am.

It takes more to relax than a few deep breaths or a cigarette. Oh, the cigarettes help, but they're dangerous to the type of reputation I maintain. Pretty, perfect girls don't poison themselves. Then again, pretty, perfect girls don't do a lot of the things I've done. I don't exactly fit the stereotype as well as I maybe should.

 _Pull it together, Alaina._

I take a long sip of lemonade. Carefully, cautiously. It's not comfortable being so rigid. But it's as comfortable as I can get these days.

* * *

 **Seraphina Corvo.**

 **Oakland, California.**

* * *

"Is it alright if I sit here?"

Harper lifts her head up from staring at her tray. Unlike some, she's never been hard to read; she doesn't care to hide her annoyance. We've hardly ever spoken, so she's not exactly my first choice of company. But without Aubrey here to pick my friends for me, I have to be a bit more assertive.

"Go ahead," she finally says. "Just don't expect a whole lot of friendliness."

I sit, trying to brush aside her hostility. Most likely, I'm not the reason for her mood. Besides, I get it. I'm quiet too. There's nothing wrong with being shy.

We chew our lunches in silence. I usually wouldn't mind the quiet, but we have so little time left to meet each other. I attempt a conversation.

"So how are you liking this camp so far?"

"Not my thing," she says simply.

"Oh. I thought it might be. You being so outdoorsy and all."

"No. There's too many people. Not enough time to be alone."

"Oh."

"It's nothing against you," she shrugs, after a long minute. "I'm just not much of a talker."

We regress into quiet again. I wouldn't have minded getting to know Harper. Nobody really understands her. But I see this isn't the place for that to happen.

Harper. Tracing circles on my plate with a fork, I try to draw my thoughts elsewhere. But that's the trouble with these long silences. You start to think too much.

Harper's the reason I'm here. Well, Harper Olson, way back home in San Francisco. I have nothing against the Harper sitting in front of me, other than the fact I wish she'd open up.

After all, it's not Harper Robbins who caused my parents to ship me off to boarding school.

It's my fault. I was foolish to let my heart come in the way of my studies and my music career. Harper and I had had a great relationship for a while, until I found out he'd been dating another girl for months. He took advantage of my naivety, and I got hurt. And now my parents want to protect me at all costs.

Haversmith is fine, I guess. I just wonder how high school would have turned out if I were allowed to form friendships with people outside of my parents' approval. If I had ever learned how to hold a decent conversation…

 _Bang_. Gabrielle storms into the room, shocking the other tables into silence, and our table into… well, we're already as quiet as we can be. Without even glancing over at the lunch buffet, she throws herself down in a chair next to Quincy, Giles, and Nico.

I feel bad for her. As terrifying as she may be, she's got to be deeply unhappy with herself to act out all the time. And even from here, I can tell that the other three- her only "friends" here- are leaning away from her ever so slightly.

Harper just rolls her eyes.

After Anabel's announcement, and about ten more awkward minutes, we're finally dismissed to rejoin our groups. "So, I'll see you around, maybe?" I offer, grabbing her tray for her.

"Probably. It's not like there's anywhere to go." She disappears in the mass of students heading back outside.

The other tables have left a mess. It doesn't seem right. Confident that at least no one will think any less of me for doing this- I'd be surprised if anyone thinks of me at all, at this point- I join the kitchen staff in clearing the room. Trays and pitchers go in the bins in the back, but the plates will have to be scraped off into the garbage. Only two plates in, I feel a hand press on my shoulder.

"Go outside, girl. We'll take care of this."

I turn to see a harsh-looking Latina woman staring at me. She reaches for the plate, but I wait to hand it to her. "It's a pretty big task."

"Nothing I'm not used to," she says coolly. "What's your name?"

"Seraphina." For a second, I think I see a flicker of recognition, but it's gone before I can think much of it. "...What's yours?"

"Sonique," she says, furrowing her brow, then relaxes. "Look, I'll take this. Don't worry about us. Your group is probably waiting for you."

 _Wouldn't be surprised if they've already left without me._ "I guess…"

 _Come on, Sera. Would it kill you to have a bit of confidence right now?_

 _Probably._

She takes the plate and heads into the back. "Thank you…" I add. Half-heartedly, I head outside.

My group is waiting outside the door. As I come up, Baptiste just shakes his head, but thankfully decides against belittling me in front of everyone. "Alright, come on, kids. Down to the lake."

The best I get from most people is half a glance. Jeremiah and Madison, at least, offer me a small smile. I wish I'd been chosen for their group instead… but then again, would either of them talk to me, either?

The others in my group- Wes, Gwen, Chanel, and Quincy- aren't really approachable. Quincy has always been a Class-A jerk to everyone. Wes is funny, but not in an easy-going way- more at others' expense, or with a darker undertone. Chanel is scary loud. And Gwen… I don't know. I get mixed messages from her. On one hand, she's been friendly enough to help me with classwork before, at least until Aubrey shooed her off. Then again, she's a bit of a rebel compared to the girls I'm used to, and has little respect for our professors. And she'd never have patience for my underconfidence.

As for the other group, their leader looks as arrogant as Baptiste. I hate to make too many judgements, but my observations are more often than not spot-on. Jackson has been in a number of my advanced courses, and I'd like to avoid him as much as possible. Alex isn't really mean, but he's unpredictable and a little intimidating, honestly. Audrey has always been a pretty genuine person, but she's usually plugged into her phone or a computer and isn't known for her friendliness. Besides, she's looked irritated ever since we got here. I don't want to make that any worse.

Jeremiah and Madison would be the obvious choices, if only they weren't already deep in conversation. I don't want to intrude. I'd hate to be a liability.

So I walk alone in the back. It's not like lonesomeness is anything new.

We reach the other side of the water in about fifteen minutes. Baptiste and the other leader sit us down in the grass, along with four other adults, who I hadn't noticed walking behind us. They're not teachers from Haversmith, so they must be some of the other staff we saw earlier this morning.

They drop their bags in front of us, pulling out thinly wrapped brown books. Notebooks. Jackson passes them down, and as I receive mine, I tear open the plastic and gently inhale its scent. Mmm. I wouldn't call myself a true bookworm- that honor is reserved for people the likes of Gerard and Dane, and sheet music is my preferred material, of course. But it's hard not to feel reinvigorated, inspired even, by the smell of new paper.

"Don't lose these," says Milo. "You'll be needing them all week for notes, which I highly suggest taking, and mandatory reflection questions. It's all for your own good, really, so you'd better take care of it."

Lose this? I'm not so careless as to lose the only companion I might have this week. As Jackson hands the pens down next, I take mine and grip it to my chest, hugging it.

As the leaders start their lecture, I try my best to find some interest in the topic of local flora. But with the other students yawning all around me, and no Aubrey here to scare me into flawless focus, I soon find myself getting distracted. First, by a crow out by the lake, dipping its head to bathe. Then, by Alex, who's drifting off and keeps having to shake himself awake. Finally, by Baptiste. While Milo speaks, he glances over each of us with narrowed eyes. Before I can look away, he's caught mine, and I fight the urge to shudder before he passes to the next student.

I really should be listening.

But I can't right now. I want to blame Milo, Baptiste, and the other adults for not engaging us. Jackson is the only one who's genuinely asking questions, but they aren't providing great answers to his questions. Jackson's always been relentless, but he seems especially uncomfortable with the fact that he's not getting the answers he wants.

But I'm being foolish. They're not the ones at fault. If I were just more disciplined… more focused… I would never have had to be here, feeling uncomfortable and one hundred percent alone among fifteen other people. I would be home with Mom and Dad, and with my friends from the conservatory, going to a normal school with people who don't have to control everything I do. Because I'd be able to control myself.

 _Focus, Sera._

I put my head down and write. Notes won't solve everything, but they're a good place to start.

* * *

 **Harper Robbins.**

 **London, United Kingdom.**

* * *

The chatter of the girls in line in front of me is giving me a headache. Really, I don't get what motivates people to talk in such high pitches. Or why they have so much to talk about. I don't mean to sound resentful about it, because I'm not. I just can't imagine living so... outwardly.

Only three more people, and then it's my turn for the climbing wall. The leaders have been a little too cautious with everyone for my liking, carefully hooking everyone in, triple-checking helmets, and making sure everyone climbs nice and slowly. It's tedious to watch, especially since, as far as I'm concerned, the chance to climb is the only reason for me to be here.

Let me be frank. Too many people in my group are suspiciously happy about this sudden change in plans. I'm not a pessimist by nature but I'd have to argue that this is not the best thing that's ever happened to us at Haversmith. Anyone with half a mind would agree. I was perfectly fine with the routine of this week- going to class, leaving, relaxing, going to sleep. I had no time to prepare for going to a dumpy summer camp, and because of that, I've been off-balance all day.

I need to climb. Climbing feels normal. And I need some normal.

Simone is next up. Looking disappointed to have her deeply interesting conversation with Alaina cut off- I heard my own name a bit too often for it to have been anything good- she trots forward to Zara and Chanchai, two of our leaders. We're kept at a moderate distance from the wall, so I can't make out what she says to them. But as soon as Simone turns her back and starts making her first efforts up the wall, Chanchai makes a gagging motion, and Zara even cracks a thin smile. At least everyone can agree about Simone.

She struggles, painfully, to reach even the third row of handholds. Five minutes later, it seems, Chanchai finally makes her come down. Why Simone even wanted to climb in the first place is beyond me. If she wanted to impress anybody, that idea was lost the second she tried to put her helmet on backwards. As soon as she's out of the harness, she scurries off towards the ropes course. Presumably to find more attention elsewhere.

After Alaina, it's finally my turn. As soon as I step up, my arms are seized, and I'm forcefully attached to the holster. I don't need the added protection- I've done this so many times on actual rock faces that it's all a bit ridiculous- but as suspected, both of the women ignore my protests. Well, who cares. At least I get to climb.

It's second nature for me; what I was made for. Even in jeans and converse, my limbs fill in the practiced movements with hardly any thought. But hardly thirty seconds in, Zara is calling me down.

"Are you kidding? Simone was up here for ages."

"That's as far as you can go."

She's right. The anchor sits only a few feet above my head, and that's where the cord ends. I can tell now that the majority of the wall goes unused. It's a waste of a perfectly good tall wall.

"It's a little low, don't you think?"

"Any higher, and it becomes unsafe."

"Unsafe? I've climbed real rock faces twenty times higher than this."

"So you're special. Big deal."

There's nowhere for me to go. Half-heartedly, I make my way back down to earth.

At the bottom, Zara rips the harness off me, then directs me towards the end of the line. And by "directs," I mean she shoves me in the opposite direction. "Next!"

Doing my best not to sulk so openly, I slide back in line behind Griffin and Nico. "You sure this is safe?" Griffin is whispering, as Gerard steps up to the wall. "Remember what happened... last year?"

"Sure it's safe," Nico says, hushed. "The odds of someone falling twice are pretty low."

"But they both fell. That really doesn't help…"

Last year, Maxwell and Ross Archer, who would have been college freshmen this year, were killed after falling from the school's climbing wall. All most people know is that Mr. Hanes, one of the athletics teachers, wasn't paying enough attention. But I think people blame Mr. Hanes a little too much. Everyone knew the Archer twins were the biggest jackasses in the school. Mr. Hanes was a great teacher if you just listened to what he had to say.

The truth is that mountaineering is as dangerous as you want to make it. If either boy had a speck of common sense in them, and maybe not tried to climb all the way to the top while Mr. Hanes was distracted, they could have survived. There wouldn't be all these crazy safety measures in everything we do. Things at school would be a lot simpler, that's for sure.

I don't mean to be so offhand about it. Death is serious, and we were all shaken up after word got out about it. Because the school has always tried to keep everything quiet, of course. Can't risk tainting their pristine reputation with a couple of deaths. No, it's all about image here.

I'd be more comfortable just about anywhere else. Everyone here is so annoyingly uptight. It's not natural.

This year can't go quickly enough. Neither can Griffin, poor kid, who's climbing painfully slowly compared to Gerard. I have to remind myself that I'm the only one here who has this experience and the full body strength that allows me to climb so easily. It really takes a lot out of you if you're not in good shape. Finally, as soon as he can, Griffin has descended the wall and is off to explore the ropes course. Nico stares up at the wall for a few seconds, thinks better of it, and follows after Griffin.

Which means it's my turn again.

As Chanchai hitches me in again, a wild thought comes to mind. It's risky, definitely. Actually, there's no sugar-coating it- it's a god-awful idea that could very well make me the next great Haversmith fatality. And yet, it's useless being here and practicing the most basic maneuvers when I've scaled cliff faces far higher than the school's seven stories. I need risk. I thrive off it.

The movements are the same, so I make it to the anchor, no problem. At Zara's request for me to descend, I instead reach back for the rope. I'm lucky the knot is already so loose, because it makes it so much easier to unhook myself entirely.

By the time Zara comprehends the madness of what I've just done, I'm too high up for her to catch me.

I've still got a helmet on. Believe me, I'm not that stupid. It covers my head the way it's meant to, but I wish it would cover my ears a bit better, so I wouldn't have to suffer through the furious screaming from the adults below. Instead, I have use distance to quiet their shouting. It's so easy, once I'm up here. I pause to take a deep breath. This is what we need from each other in our last few days together. Not constant contact. We all just need space.

My epiphany is gone in seconds. That short-lived exhilaration is quickly consumed by the terrifying realization of the predicament I've put myself in. I've made it up here… but for what? Where do I go? And then I really start thinking, why did I just get rid of the only thing that can save me if I fall?

I'm not afraid of heights. It's just that usually, there's something that will be there to catch me. A rope, a padded floor, maybe a spotter, depending on where I'm practicing. I've never seen someone climb this high unassisted before. I guess I'm the only one stupid enough to.

Remembering I have no form of a safety net is what really sets me panicking. Yes, I knew it was rash, I knew it was risky, but I'm typically right about the kinds of risks I take. I didn't realize it would be this bad.

I hate to admit my mistakes. It takes a lot for me to recognize that what I did was the wrong thing. But being a three-second fall from almost certain death can humble anyone.

"I'm sorry!" I call down. "You were right! I'm coming down!"

I start moving back down. It's painfully slow work. I regret making fun of Simone now because I've got to be going slower than her, with my body as tense as it is, and how careful I have to be. There's some dirt in my eye, too, that burns like crazy. But I can't itch it. Can't take either hand off this wall. Can't even tune in to the ruckus below, as I'm sure they're still screaming at me to stop being an idiot, or something. For all I can tell, they may all be silent. For me it's just the roaring of blood in my ears and a repetitive mantra: _One step at a time. One step at a time._

My palms are so clammy, it's a wonder I'm still hanging on. Every time my heart beats, I feel it in my hands, in my throat, and behind my eyes. _This is what you live for_ , I try to assure myself. _Where's the fun without a little danger?_

I can't take this. For a second, I reach to scratch the dust from out of my eye, and still rubbing, I stick my foot out for a foothold that isn't there. Before I can react, I'm sliding straight down towards the ground.

* * *

 **Yuto Ebisu.**

 **Naha, Okinawa Prefecture, Japan.**

* * *

"Hey, help me up, bitch."

"That's a fat joke, coming from you."

Trina rolls her eyes. "Just give me a hand. Not everyone here has chunky ass shoulders for climbing."

"Whose chunky shoulders are you talking about?" Slowly, I pull her up from the rope ladder and onto the platform. She's not very heavy- her size belies her attitude- but she's gripping the rungs with her left hand all the way up, fighting my efforts to help her. Just because she can. "You could make this a little easier on me, you know."

"Quit being a pussy, Yu."

"Guess not."

She ignores me, shakily getting to her feel. At least, she pretends to ignore me. But I've seen this look way too many times. Even as she turns her head the other way, looking across the rope bridge, I can see her checking me out of the corner of her eye. Looking to see if I know she's too important to pay attention to me. It's cute. Not. "They expect us to climb across that...?"

"It's a bridge. Really not that hard."

"Do you see what it's made out of? Do you know how easily I could fall? What happens then?"

"Then you snap your neck and we all get to go home."

A gust of wind picks up, rattling the leaves of the trees around us. The bridge swings. There's a rough creaking, too, and looking up I find that the rope tying our bridge to the trees is groaning.

I'm a thrill seeker. Don't get me wrong. But a creaky rope bridge twenty feet in the air is _pretty_ sketch.

Trina shivers. "First to go. Lucky me."

"Keep it moving," growls Rosalie from down below.

"Why are we even up here?" continues Trina. "This is so stupid. I don't want to be doing dumb exercises at some crusty old campsite just because Haversmith can't afford a real class trip."

"You wanted to get up here so you could shit talk in peace." If today had gone to plan, I would be high out of my mind right now. Instead, I'm high up in the air with a girl who never shuts her mouth about other people. "So you might as well get on with it, because sweet Rosalie is going to wring our necks if we keep blocking the line."

"I didn't realize it was this high..."

"Yeah. That's the point." But she's gone quiet suddenly, and won't take her eyes off the ground. "T. You okay?"

"Of course I'm okay." She meets my gaze with narrowed eyes. "I'm not the pussy here." Still, even with a harness attached, she's hesitant to take a step onto the rope bridge.

"I said move it, Kellington!"

"Chill out!" I call down. "She's not comfortable. Don't try to force her to do something when she's not ready."

Rosalie crosses her arms. "You shouldn't have gone up there if you were too scared."

"I'm not scared," whines Trina. "It's just not stable."

"You have five seconds to step off that platform or I'm bringing you down."

"You really want us to rush across this and break our necks?" I yell. "Because trust me, that's the last thing you need."

"Stop it," says Trina. "Jesus. I'm going."

We get off the platform, though Trina seems to be moving as slow as possible. I look down. At the other end, Simone is starting to climb up, and making surprisingly good time on the rope ladder. "Trina, I don't care how much you hate this, but if Simone catches up to us, you're going to wish you had fallen when you had the chance."

That finally gets her moving.

"I don't know how you deal with her at all," says Trina. "I couldn't handle her at lunch. You have to be in a group with her all week." Her renewed anger fuels her towards the other side.

"She's actually not that bad if you just give her a chance."

She stops, turns around, and laughs straight in my face. "Trust me, Yu, I've been patient with that girl since freshman year. She is so conceited and stuck up and- look, no one even likes her. They just hang out with her because she's pretty."

"You hang out with her."

"Not because I want to! It's like she's stalking me or something."

"Right." We finally reach the opposite platform. Now, we're facing the thick rope wall. Theoretically, you're supposed to climb sideways across it- at least, that's what I'd assume- but it looks like the person ahead of us has abandoned that idea. "Brandon, what are you doing?" I laugh.

"Just hanging around, dude." Brandon flashes a toothy grin- upside down, it just looks like a strange grimace, especially with his face so red. "Head kinda hurts, though."

"Get off. We're coming through."

"Sure, whatever you say." He tries to flip backward, but gets his foot caught and dangles for a second before finally falling off. He hangs mid-air for a few moments before Rosalie finally notices.

"Prescott! Get back on the ropes and quit fooling around!"

"She's just pissed that I'm not fooling around with _her_ ," Brandon winks, then continues across the ropes.

Trina just shakes her head. "Real classy, boys..."

I take the lead now, stepping off and grabbing ahold of one of the rope links. The wall is stronger than I suspected, and with our harnesses, we're sturdier than I thought. Trina still looks nervous, though, even with that shaky bridge behind us. "Give me your hand, T. It's not that bad."

She takes a step out, arm outstretched. As she's about to grab my hand, I pull back, and she slips. Screaming, she misses the rope and falls about five feet before her harness catches her.

I grin. "Karma's a bitch."

"I will murder you," she hisses.

As she swings back toward the wall and starts climbing up, I hear shouts from down below. It's not Rosalie this time, or even the other students waiting for the ropes course. They're coming from the opposite end of the area, where that immense climbing wall has been set up. Neither Trina nor I had much heart for rock climbing, hence why we're here instead. But someone's on it, and my heart drops when I realize she's not harnessed in.

"Oh my God. Trina."

"I see her. I'm not stupid."

"Who is that?" It's a brown-haired girl, and the only brunette in my group is Simone. And she's on the bridge.

"It's… Harper. Right? She's in my group."

"Harper…"

"You know her. Never says a word. What the hell is she doing?"

As we watch Harper slowly descend the wall, suddenly she loses her grip. Her hands scratch at the wall for something, anything, to catch her. Trina screams.

Forgetting our caution on the ropes, we swing across to the other end and drop down the ladder, unclipping each other's helmets and harnesses at the bottom. We race across the field, but by the time we get to the base of the wall, Harper's already on the ground.

It's impossible to guess what happened with so many people crowding her. So I grab the first person I see who's watching from a distance.

"Nico. What happened?"

He turns around, wild-eyed. "It was crazy. She just went up there without being tied in or anything- I mean she had a helmet, so that's good, but then she slipped. Luckily she wasn't too far from the bottom, but she landed pretty hard…"

"Out of the way," bellows Zara. "Kids, I swear to God, if you don't give me some room to work here-"

When everyone backs up, I get my first look at Harper. She's sitting up, leaning against one of the other leaders. Her face is pale, eyes wide, bloodshot, as she holds her ankle. Her fingers are bloody.

"What kind of idiot-"

"Don't start," groans Harper.

"How about, don't try to boss me around with your self-righteous attitude." Zara's face is red, hands trembling. "Do you realize what you could have done? Your stupidity could have just _killed_ you. Not to mention, landed us in a fat lawsuit that we really don't need at this point." If I didn't think Zara's hair was so important to her, she'd probably be ripping it out right now.

"Zara, that's great and all, but my hands are completely torn up," she says. "And my ankle is kind of killing me, so sorry if I'm not really focusing on right now. Maybe try lecturing me after I get cleaned up..."

Two of the other staff help her to her feet, then help her hobble away down one of the paths. Back to camp, I assume.

Zara turns to the rest of us, eyes ablaze. Something tells me she's not through with Harper. "Let this be your warning. You follow our rules, or you will face the consequences. And trust me, you don't want to see my bad side."

"She treats us like we're all horrible people," Trina hisses in my ear. "It's Harper's fault for being fucking crazy."

To be honest, I can't blame Harper for what she did. It's not her fault for wanting to break out of this system. It's stupid that they're trying to protect us so much, and acting so strict whenever anyone tries to have any fun. No one signed up for this, so we shouldn't be forced to follow their guidelines if we don't want to. If there's one thing I hate, it's being treated like a little kid.

An alarm rings out through the trees, signalling the end of this activity. I really, really don't want to be a follower and give in to this cruel scheduling, especially after being inspired by Harper's example. But if everyone else is going, then I'm not going to be the one loser left behind.

Besides, there will be plenty of other chances for me to have some fun. So without another thought, I follow Brandon and Trina into the trees.

* * *

 **Gerard Colson.**

 **Springfield, Massachusetts.**

* * *

"So you just have to place your hands like this…"

"Why?" Eimer asks. "What do I do it for?"

"So that you can scrape this flint at the right angle-" I demonstrate- "and then you've got a spark. Not too bad, huh?"

"I think I got it." After a few unsuccessful tries, she produces a spark. Her tiny teepee catches for a few moments until the breeze blows it out. "Hmm. Try again?"

"Go for it. You've got this, E," I smile. She really tries. And she's one of the nicest people I've met here, genuinely. "Oh, and by the way, you're going to want to scoop out some more room for your campfire. Maybe put some rocks around it? Otherwise, you could burn down the whole forest."

She hastens to fix her fire. A ways down the line, Griffin curses. "Hey, does anyone get this?" he asks, and sees me. "Gerard?"

My fire is blazing on my end. Alaina was nice enough to agree to watch it for me while I helped Eimer. I don't want to keep her waiting, but I picked up the skill fairly quickly, and it's only fair I help out some of the slower learners. "What's up?" I say, kneeling next to him.

"My fire keeps going out," he frowns, poking at his kindling with the charred end of a stick. "I know how to start it and all, but how did you keep yours burning?"

"Okay, let me see what you did."

He shows me his process- he has enough dry kindling and flint shavings, and I see his spark take up for a few moments before dying. "You're doing everything right," I say. "You just have to be a bit more active right after your fire catches. Blow on it a little- gently- and then slowly add more fuel."

A little skeptical, he nonetheless tries another spark. I'm pleased to see his flame take up, and as he blows on it, it starts to burn the surrounding sticks. Soon, he's got a good-sized fire going.

"Oh, cool!" he says. Then, looking up, he nods his head. "Thanks."

"Sure thing," I shrug.

I return to my station. Alaina has done a good job tending it, but it needs a bit more fuel. After stooping to recover some wayward branches- the forest luckily has no shortage of kindling- I turn to Arron, one of the other staff members, who has been silently overseeing us for the past twenty or so minutes. "Sorry to bother you," I say. "But do you think it's better to add more twigs or bigger logs if I want a stronger fire?"

For a second, he doesn't look at me. I have a feeling he's in a kind of permanent zone, focus frozen on the already proven troublemakers. The ones who have been giving him trouble since we got here. Even through the slow Wildlife station, no one acted out like Harper did back at the climbing wall, but we've all been pretty rowdy overall. I feel a little bad for him- I wouldn't want to be chaperoning a bunch of high schoolers, either! Then again, we're not all bad, if you give us a chance to prove ourselves. Who can blame us for wanting to lash out a little early on?

"Just try both," he finally says, although he won't look at me. "Use whatever burns better."

That helps, I think, but I thank him anyway and get back to tending my fire. I don't want to push him. He's probably had a pretty rough day so far. Besides, it's better to learn sometimes when you give yourself the chance to make mistakes.

After another ten minutes of basically making sure my fire doesn't burn the skin off my hands, Zara comes around and checks our progress. While mine is definitely burning, it's nothing prepared to Griffin's, whose flame towers above the rest. Unfortunately, only six of us look like we've followed the directions. Simone, Yuto, and Trina have nothing but a cluster of pebbles and twigs to show for the last twenty-five minutes of work. Although I'm not sure Zara would call their loud argument over whether Harper has attention-seeking problems work, exactly. ("She's said three words total this whole year in Physics." "But she jumped off a fucking rock wall!") Zara's jaw clenches at their meager piles.

"You all don't do a very good job of following directions, do you?"

"You could have been more clear," shrugs Simone. "It was too hard."

"Too hard?" She turns to me. Oh, great. I know she saw me helping people, which technically, I wasn't supposed to do, but why not help? This isn't a competition. "Colson, did you have any trouble with the instructions?"

"I mean, a little," I say. "I had to experiment a bit to figure out what worked."

"He just got it because he's smart," says Trina.

"No, he got it because he pays attention." Zara sighs, rubbing her eyes. "I'd raise my voice again, but I really don't have the energy at this point…"

That's when Simone starts screaming. Yuto has stuck a stick in Brandon's fire, and used it to set her hair ablaze.

For Zara, the ending bell can't come soon enough, although she probably would have dragged us all back to camp herself if she'd had to. It's a short walk back, luckily. Simone, whimpering and clutching at the small blackened piece of her ponytail, won't accept any consolation from her friends. She'll be able to fix it with a slight trim, no problem, but I can't tell her that just yet. She'll take it too hard.

"Into the lodge," Zara calls out as we approach camp. "Everyone grab your bags and drop them in the cabin marked on your bag tag. And be quick with it, for God's sake."

Inside, with the doors spread open, the lodge is way less creepy than it was this morning. I hand people their bags off the pile until I find my own, marked with a B. "Anyone else in B?"

Blake, who's just been given his bag, holds it up. "I'm B!"

"Yes!"

I follow him outside and down the stairs to the left. The cabins appear to be arranged in something of an arc, with a couple sprinkled in the center. "Here we are," he says, and pushes open the door.

It's even smaller inside than it looks on the outside. A bunk bed is pressed against the far wall, with the other single bed next to the door on the left. Other than that, it's just a small side table and a set of shelves. Bookshelves. I can't wait to search the stacks, but there are more pressing matters at hand. I set my bag down.

"Which bed do you want?"

"Doesn't matter to me," Blake says. "Let's just ask whoever else comes in."

As we wait, I check my bag on the single bed. There's no reason to suspect anyone's been tampering with it- our belongings have been locked in the lodge since we've been gone, right?- yet I can't shake the feeling that something's not right. Finally, I pull out my water bottle. That's what's strange. It's been emptied.

"Hey, Blake."

"What's up?"

"Do you know if someone went through our bags while we were gone?"

"Not one of us," he says. "They were on the bus, and then someone must have brought them into the lodge while we were all eating or something. Why, are you missing something?"

"No, it's just… my water," I say, puzzled. Everything else is intact, and I still have my bottle. I don't understand. "Check yours. I wonder if the leaders were looking for more phones or something."

He opens his bag on the rug in the middle of the room. A few seconds later, he curses, finding something missing. "Cigarettes. Those were expensive, too…"

"You smoke?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Wasn't planning on it today. But everyone knows they check dorms for stuff when you're off campus."

There's a knock on the open door, and Brandon saunters in. "What's going on in here, boys?"

If he was expecting high-fives and good humor, he doesn't get it. "Brandon, look through your bag," I say. "Both of us are missing things."

He empties his backpack on the floor. Despite the serious mood, I have to stifle my laughter at the mountain of condoms he's packed in the front pocket. "Really?"

"Gotta wrap it before you tap it," he winks. "Oh, no…"

"What?"

"I'm not going to say what I had… but it's gone."

"So the leaders took all our stuff," says Blake. "They can't do that."

"I hate to say it…" I wince. "But they can. Technically. If it's something that goes against academy rules or threatens another student. Or, in this case, any electronics."

"Not fair," huffs Blake.

"Wait a second," says Brandon. "You got something taken, too. What did you have that was illegal?"

"Mine's nothing exciting. Just weird. All they did was pour out my water."

"Well, then we know what their motivation was," he says.

"Yes…?"

"To be dicks," he laughs. "Thieves wouldn't waste their time pouring your water out. They literally just want us to hate our lives."

"So you don't think it's something we should worry about."

"Oh, no, we definitely should. We're going to steal our stuff back. Eventually. But first, we should go find our small groups. I'm pretty sure I hear Rosalie calling out for me..."

"Keep dreaming, buddy," says Blake.

They walk out. As their footsteps drift off, a smile tugs at my lips, relief washing over me. Nothing to worry about. The leaders just want us to be safe. And we are. I've got a safe place to sleep and two cool roommates to share it with me.

There's no reason to expect anything less than fun from this trip. They said it's going to be what we make of it. And so far, I'm feeling pretty optimistic.

* * *

 **Song: Closer by The Chainsmokers.**

* * *

 **I could leave a long author's note to boost my word count like last time, but I'll spare you having to read another long essay :)**

 **Basically, volleyball's done, 8 of my 9 college apps will be done by January 1, and best of all, I'm taking a creative writing course next semester, which means my writing time will essentially triple in the next few months. Don't expect scheduled updates or anything crazy like that, but as this story picks up, I suspect I'll be able to update more than once every three months. I'm excited for that.**

 **Thanks for your patience (again)! See you next chapter.**


	4. Hounds

**Chapter 4: Hounds.**

* * *

 _How could you know what it feels like to be outside yourself?_

 _You think you know me so well_

* * *

 **Monica Celsey.**

 **Weston, New Hampshire.**

* * *

They're making us do _art_.

Which, under any other circumstances, would be absolutely fine by me. I've considered becoming an artist, actually, after I graduate and everything, although with the family business, that's pretty much a shot in the dark. But the fact that we are legitimately sitting around and drawing pictures together has got to be the dumbest thing possible. Leave it to Haversmith Academy to waste a beautiful mountain range with such diverse wildlife by sticking us inside with the lights blaring, wasting so much unnecessary electricity- I could go on. At least the AC's off, because that's a huge energy sucker right there, and as hot as it is, it's good for us to have some natural air. As far as my own interests go, though, I'd be so much happier if they'd just give me a backpack, a sleeping bag, maybe a pack of jerky, and let me go camping for three days. It's not like I haven't done it before.

Instead, I'm trapped inside in a circle with Delinquent #2, the Greasemaster, little miss Romeo, and Freya, who I hate to dub Slowpoke Sloth, but someone has to. Oh, and Giselle. I'm still thinking of a name for her. She's not necessarily more pretentious than Mariana, but she's been reapplying lipstick for the last five minutes and me, my beat-up clipboard, and my busted blue crayon are way over it.

My piece is technically supposed to tell a story. Those are the instructions Giselle gave us (in her sing-song and gag-worthy voice), right before she told us that "nothing we share in this room is for anyone else's ears. What is said here, stays here." Which makes me worry that this is going to turn into a support group real soon, in which case, I may be forced to hurl myself out a window. These "river drawings" are supposed to be drawn in a shape that accurately describes our life experiences so that we can "empathize" and "bond" with our classmates. The river goes up for good things, and down for bad things. For example (as Giselle explained earlier, pulling a blue marker across the whiteboard at the end of the room), "My water would go down for the time when one of my maids lost my favorite diamond earrings" (I really, really wish I was kidding) "and up, for when my daddy bought me new ones!"

As much as I'm investing into drawing a pretty good river, what's more important is what we have to say. The drawing is just a visual aid of sorts to help us organize our thoughts for when we present them to our small groups. Everyone's is supposed to look different, but I have a hard time believing anyone's is going to turn out like mine. It's a little risky, sharing what I'm about to share. I'd just better hope my group members have the sense of humor to appreciate it.

As for Giselle... I'm assuming it'll fly right over her head.

"Try to make these nice and pretty," she adds. "You can keep them once you're done!"

Giles snorts. "You think anyone wants to take one of these pieces of trash home?"

"Your mom took you home, Giles," I say.

"What?"

"Nothing. Finish your drawing."

I provide some finishing touches to my river- rough shading, nothing so fancy, then, sufficiently pleased with my work, I look up. Everyone's finished except for Freya, who likely took Giselle's advice to "make it pretty" to heart. Shane's tapping his foot, examining the room with an uninterested expression. Juliet sits, leaned back, legs folded, staring blankly out the window. Giles looks like he's staring straight at the wall, like some sort of greasy, glazed-over corpse.

After a few minutes, Freya finally looks up. Nobody moves until Shane roughly clears his throat.

"Is everyone finished?" Giselle snaps out of her daydream and remembers that she's supposed to be babysitting us. "Oh, good! Who'd like to start?"

"I can," volunteers Freya with a sheepish grin. She holds up her drawing, and Juliet's eyes widen. Shane even raises his eyebrows a little. Freya's river is pretty flat- no real highs or lows in her life, it looks like- but her artwork is incredible. It's amazing what she's managed to do with a few shades of Crayola crayons and 10 minutes. "So my river starts in Fairbanks, Alaska, where I was born..."

We go around slowly. Freya finishes her tale after about five minutes, but Shane, whose drawing is a single blue line going straight across his paper, covers all he wants to say in under two minutes. Next is Giles. His drawing has more noticeable waves, but as deeply as he stares into everyone's eyes as he speaks, he tends to uncomfortably skim over the more important parts of his drawing. No one asks him to go into more details, so I sit back as well. Unfortunately, though not surprisingly, it doesn't seem like anyone's that quick to open up to the group. Doesn't matter. I've made a plan for what I'm going to say, and I'll say it. Not that it's a sob story or anything, but it may just come as a bigger shock now that everyone else has pretty much half-assed this project.

When it's my turn, Giselle makes me stand. "Show us your drawing, dear."

"I will, I will," I say. "Not yet. Let me build some suspense."

I clear my throat. "So, I'm Monica, and my river starts at the bottom of my page, because I was born to two pretty shitty parents. They were far more interested in building up their company- which, by the way, produces materials for nuclear weapons- bad, right?" Giselle looks mildly interested. "I know, pretty sketch. And so bad for the earth. I mean, common sense, people."

It's hard to tell if anyone's really listening. The nuke statement has at least drawn Shane's attention, but as I go into more discussion about my general childhood, I can't help but assume that no one cares. Would I care, if I were listening to this talk? I decide to speed things up a bit.

"Anyways, so life got steadily better once I got involved in things like Girl Scouts, hiking trips, and school and community conservatism groups back home, which, I can assure you, Lyn and Carson were none too happy about. Since their whole lives and careers revolve around trashing the atmosphere, right? So everything I've ever done is basically to spite them. And I'm not just saying that to be dramatic. They're really just closed-minded people. I'm sure one of you gets what I mean."

Some nodding. Giselle reaches into her handbag for her lipstick. Again. _Come on. You're being so boring_. Feeling a bit desperate, I pause to look at my drawing.

"And so, with this theme in mind," I say after a beat, remembering that my picture could still save me, "one day I just figured, You know what, Monica? Maybe trying to talk them into going green isn't going to work. You're going to have to be a bit more bold. So, when I was thirteen, I packed a backpack, grabbed my ukulele, and- as the biggest 'fuck you' of my life-" I flip the paper around to reveal that my drawing has indeed taken the shape of a giant middle finger- "I pretty much ran away from home for three days to go kick back in the mountains. Take that, you pigs."

There's silence for a long moment. Then Shane starts busting up. Even Juliet and Freya crack a smile. "As you can see by the shape of my river," I continue, "that was also the high point of my life. Total blast, would highly recommend it. Unfortunately... my parents got kinda pissed, basically banished me to boarding school, and it's been a steep downhill fall ever since. That's all you really need to know about that." I plop down in my chair. "Juliet, how about you?"

Shane's still silently shaking with laughter in his chair, covering his face with one hand. Giselle just stares at me, trying to form some sort of sentence. "That's... not exactly what we were asking for."

"Technically, it's a river. And it's irrefutably accurate. I'm sure you could give dear old Carson Celsey a call and he would agree with it."

"Well, it's certainly creative," she says, frowning. After a moment, she remembers Juliet still has yet to speak. "Oh, of course. Juliet. Please share."

As Juliet quietly stands up to speak, I look around the room to make a judgment call on people's reactions. Shane, of course, approves. I can't tell if Freya's really smiling because she thinks it's funny or because she doesn't really understand it yet. It's a horrible habit, but I know that as much as I like a good laugh, I've got to be careful that no one's really offended. I don't really want to piss anyone off. But at the same time, if you want to understand my sense of humor, you just can't take me so seriously.

* * *

 **Griffin Ellings.**

 **Macatawa, Michigan.**

* * *

The art isn't the problem. I can draw just fine. And I have no trouble with ideas- in fact, I have more than I'd like to admit. Ironically, for a kid who constantly gets shouted at for never shutting up, I don't know how I'm going to speak.

I can't focus on Nico right now. I have to figure out what I'm going to say! How am I supposed to lie about my entire life right in front of five other people? Back at school I tend to just avoid the topic, and people luckily don't ask too many questions. But what about right here, where our only focus is to open up to each other?

Just standing up and pretending that my life's never been that interesting isn't going to work. Nobody's that stupid. Rosalie is especially attentive, and it'd be even more embarrassing to be called out on lying in front of everyone else.

But I can't be honest. Not just because I don't want to be so vulnerable, but also because I know Trina, who's sitting almost directly across from me. I can't trust her. If she gets any dirt on any of us, she'll spread it in an instant. So what if we're not supposed to share any of this with anyone else? Trina doesn't care. She thinks it's fun to bring people down. I've been spared so far, but Karla, one of my best friends, almost transferred because Trina spread such nasty rumors about her being lesbian. Nowadays, Karla can laugh about it because she's unashamedly proud of who she is. But for a long time, Trina made life hell. I'm going to do my best to avoid that if I can help it.

Hopefully, it won't even matter to anyone. Who's listening at this point? Besides, Harper is the next person after me, and with all that happened earlier with her falling off the wall and everything, maybe she'll draw attention away from me. It's strange, actually. She's never seemed the reckless type, yet here she is, hands and ankle wrapped up in tape. It makes me wonder about how none of us really know each other. I don't know her, or Trina, or Nico, or Brandon. And they don't know anything about me.

I feel lightheaded and sick to my stomach, and not from the heat. This is killing me. I'd do anything, anything else to not talk about my whole life in front of my classmates. I wish I were still asleep in bed, not living this nightmare. Why did we have to come here today? Why do I have to do this?

It feels like Nico hardly says anything. Too soon, he's sitting down, and Rosalie is now nodding in my direction.

"Is that all you're going to say?" I frown at Nico, trying to stall.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you just went through some things really fast. I think it'd be cool if you were more detailed."

"We don't have time," Rosalie says. "Griffin, please share your drawing with us."

I gulp. There's dead silence for a long moment as I desperately skim my drawing, searching for courage anywhere. I need something to get me through this. One of my milestones eventually catches my eye, and I feel my shoulders loosen as I realize that this is hardly any different from acting. Isn't that what I love most? Performing a little? Yeah, the stakes might be higher, but I've performed under pressure before. I'm no stranger to stressful situations.

"So," I say, getting to my feet and turning my paper around for everyone to see. "This is my river. Yeah, it sucks. Don't laugh. I'm pretty obviously not an art person, and Brandon, I see you cracking a smile, and you'd better quit it, because I actually tried really hard, and yours was worse. Anyways."

I clear my throat. "Probably one of the biggest parts of my life was when I was born, since, you know, I'm kind of a big deal in my life. Apparently the doctors said I was the biggest-headed baby they'd ever seen, and that's physically, so don't be a bitch about it, okay? My mom and dad still joke about it a lot, but it's all good. They're very supportive otherwise..."

I break off. Rosalie's staring at me, eyebrows raised. I don't know if it's just the way she looks so deeply into everyone's eyes, but I get the feeling she already knows all my secrets. Maybe even things I don't know about myself. It's a little creepy. Trying to shake her off, I continue with my lie, this time making a point to avoid her gaze.

"Mom's a professional organizer, and Dad manages a restaurant. We've always lived pretty comfortably since my granddad is rich. That's why I got to come here. Back home in Michigan, though, I went to this really gross public school all through middle school. It was a pretty terrible experience. People were bullies…"

As I work my way through my improvisation, I watch as people's faces fall into frowns, pity. No one ever doubts an embarrassing or self-deprecating story. Maybe it's not fair to be playing with people's emotions, but that's just a side effect to protecting myself. This guilt doesn't even compare to what I'd feel if I ever came out with the truth.

At least as I transition into talking about my time at Haversmith, I can be fully honest. People know what I've been involved in at school, so there's nothing I need to hide. I share my experiences in the theatre program, especially when I earned a top role in our production of _Much Ado About Nothing_ in only my third week being here. My river goes all the way up to the top of the page for my sophomore year, since that was one of the most awesome productions I've ever been a part of.

"Then junior year," I continue, "we go down a bit. Obviously junior year messed all of us up, though luckily for me it didn't have anything to do with friendships or my family, but more just the stress of school and colleges and everything. I don't want to go into it too much, since it's not really that interesting. Senior year has been way more exciting, as you can see here. Our fall musical was absolutely amazing- props if anyone went and saw it- especially getting to be the lead actor. But a more important event happened this December." I break out into a grin. "I was accepted early into my dream school on an acting scholarship. Considering that's all I've devoted myself to ever since I started high school… It's such a blessing. It's a dream come true."

Acting has always been my passion. The fact that I get to pursue it in college- the fact that acting is the whole reason I can _afford_ college- is so cool. Especially with all that drama about the tuition at Haversmith this year. My foster parents and I scraped together everything we could and just barely came up with enough for me to finish my senior year. But that's not worth worrying about anymore. I have too much to look forward to in this new big step in my life.

It means I'm finally growing up.

"Anyways..." I shift from one foot to the other. "I don't know how interesting that was for anyone, but I'm happy with where life's taken me. Even though… even though there have been some lows in my life… I'm happy with it. I'm happy with what I've experienced at Haversmith, and I can't wait for the future."

I sit. Brandon, Harper, and Nico clap politely. It feels like I've just completed a long school presentation, not a lecture about my life. And instead of being graded, I'm being personally judged on who I am.

As Harper eventually, with some argument, submits to speaking, the smile slips from my lips. Lying tastes slimy in my mouth. Although it's not as disgusting as I feel about the truth. There's no acceptable way to relate my foster history, with all its stress and abuse, without looking like a pity case. Or a monster.

No one deserves to know me like that. Especially Trina. Especially four other people who may or may not have been entirely honest about their histories, either. Why would they? For me, there's nothing to gain from telling the truth. It wouldn't draw us together. It would isolate me.

I don't want word of my abuse getting out. I don't want to change people's perceptions of me, and for some horrible, abused person to be their last impression of me. That's not who I am. It's a part of my past, but it doesn't define me. I refuse to let it.

As nice as this mountain trip seemed earlier, I wish I'd stayed home today. I don't like showing myself to anyone. More than that, I don't like coming face-to-face with myself.

* * *

 **Blake Chapman.**

 **New York City, New York.**

* * *

I'm really trying here. Trying to sit and be patient and listen to Mariana talk about all her wonderful blessings in life. It's not her fault I'm anxious to get outside, but I can't help wishing she'd end her speech already. I need to go run.

I've been tapping my foot ever since I sat down. The problem with being the first to go is that I've had to sit through everyone else's speeches, with no nerves to make the time pass quicker. Not everything has been too boring, luckily. Dane talked about his confidence issues last year, and following his lead, Doran opened up about how he used to be bullied a lot. I'm grateful they trusted us with parts of their hearts. Gabrielle, of course, was the complete opposite, refusing to speak for ten minutes until Milo literally had to threaten her with making her speak in front of all thirty of us. Even then, she just used her time to rant about her family and the school, which, I won't lie, was pretty funny. Still, I'm ready to wrap things up. When I'm tired of something, I drop it and move on. It's just how I'm wired.

"And so, sophomore year," Mariana is saying. I check the clock; it's frozen, but I'd estimate that she's been speaking for at least fifteen minutes and she hasn't even gotten halfway through high school. "I had a really amazing experience when I got to travel all the way to South Africa and stay with my great-aunt there for two weeks, and it was just such an incredible cultural experience..."

"Okay, okay, we get it," Milo says, standing. "Unless you have anything... meaningful... to add, we can probably wrap this up."

"Are you saying that my life isn't important?"

"Yes. Pretty much."

She scoffs. "I barely even got to say anything. What if I had a huge death in my family that completely changed my whole outlook on life?"

"If it was that important to you, you would have cried about it already. We're going to move on." Milo sits back down and checks his phone. "Looks like nearly everyone else is already done, so we can start heading outside..."

"Wait a second," I say. "How do you have service here? All our phones cut out when we were driving up."

"I'm a leader. I get priority." Whatever that means. He scrolls for a few minutes, brow creased. "Oh, wonderful..."

"What is it?" I ask. "Did something happen again?" Ever since Harper got hurt, all the counselors have been more on edge. Not that Milo wasn't a bit of a prick before.

"Worse." He groans. "Anabel made a change in plans. You're going to be playing... capture the flag."

"YES!" I leap up. Everyone stares. "What? It's a classic."

"We're group Three, which means we're to meet on the north side of camp along with groups One and Four. Further instructions will be given upon arrival," he reads. "Grab your dumb drawings on the way out, I don't want to deal with your shit."

I'm the first one out the door, flying past the cabins until I realize I have no way of knowing which way I'm supposed to be going. "Hey, Shane!" I call out to the first person I see, also making his way across the camp. "Which way's the north side of camp?"

"It's to the north."

"Alright, smartass." I catch up to him quickly. "What group are you, man? Maybe we're together."

"Four. I'm supposed to be over there too."

"Oh, nice! Are you excited to play?"

He shrugs, sighing. "Not really. I'd really just rather be home right now."

"Really? But this place is so cool."

"But at what cost? We're on a schedule all day. We have no freedom. We should be in the city right now." Suddenly he stops me next to one of the cabins and lowers his voice. "Hey, listen. I know we're not best friends or anything, but I feel like I can trust you. Can't I?"

"Of course," I say. "What do you need?"

"Look, I really, really would rather be home right now. And I know they all told us that no one was going home, but... I think if something serious enough happened... they'd want me gone."

People are giving us sideways looks as they go by. I wait for them to pass before responding. "Are you going to hurt someone?"

"No! No. Just cause some healthy trouble, you know. Thing is, I need someone to help me out- not really do anything, but just watch my back."

I weigh the possibilities. Saying no would probably be the safer option. I wouldn't get in trouble, wouldn't hurt my reputation. But then again, who am I to back away from a little risk?

"I mean, you'd better be doing something big. I don't want to risk my skin for some pussy little prank."

"Don't worry. I'm not that lame." He grins. "Find me back here before dinner. We're going to need to strike when everyone else is busy."

Eventually, we make it to the right place. Our groups are standing together, chatting as they wait for the game to start. As soon as I'm sure everyone has found our side, I call everyone together.

"Alright. Ladies. Gentlemen." I nod to their respective sides of the huddle. "We've got a big game today. We've been training all season for this one. Now, we know they're big. They're strong. And they're hungry. They want this _bad_. But you know what we are? We're tougher than them. We're stronger. We're _hungrier_. So let's show them what we came for. Let's show them who we _are_!"

Chanel, Quincy and Wes start hooting. Everyone else just looks confused.

"Were we supposed to be preparing for this?" asks Freya. "Because I honestly didn't know this was happening until, like, five minutes ago."

Everyone laughs. "No, Freya," I say. "I was exaggerating. Now, fellow Haversmith friends, clearly this is just a pickup game. But as we've seen today, pickup games may be just as intense as the real deal." Chanel and Gabrielle glare at each other, but Quincy keeps Gabrielle back. "I want you all to channel everything you've got into this game. Because I don't know about you guys, but I want to win."

"I don't really care," says Doran. "As long as I don't get my shirt that sweaty. It was expensive."

"Ohhh, wait," Freya says. "You were just pretending it was like a big football game or something. I get it now." She laughs, and several people join in. "Yeah, anyways. Keep talking."

"Winning's good and all," says Gwen, "but honestly, who gives? Like, what's the point?"

"The point? The point?" I grab my hair with my fingers, ready to pull it out. "The point is to win! The point is to establish our dominance over everyone else because we're better than them! The point-"

"Losers have kitchen duty tonight," drawls Baptiste as he comes to stand behind our group. "Oh, sorry, Chapman. Were you having a moment?"

Baptiste's method of motivation is much more effective. Everyone snaps to attention.

"Here's your flag," he says, pressing it into my palm. "You all are free to hide it anywhere between here and the lodge, but make sure you protect it well. Everyone-" He stops. "No, I'm not going to explain how to play, because if you don't know how to play this game by now, then you shouldn't be graduating. Two-hand touch for captures. Don't get hurt. Don't fight anyone, please... And, you'd all better win, because the six of us Bene- the six of us counselors agreed that whatever punishments you all get, we have to act on too. And I'm too manly to be doing dishes."

I reach over and give the flag to Chanel. "You and Gwen, go hide this somewhere. I trust you two to be good defenders. Actually, Quincy, you're a good call too. Just... try not to act like anyone coming at you is an opposing football player, okay?" I cringe, remembering the time he nearly snapped that Northridge player's neck. Kid had to be driven off in an ambulance. "And Juliet, you go with them and see where they hide the flag, then come back and tell everyone else so we're all on the same page."

She, Gwen, Quincy, and Chanel run off. That leaves my entire group, plus Freya, Shane, Giles, Monica, Wes, and Seraphina. They look to me expectantly.

"Alright. The rest of you. You all are my speedsters and my utilitarians. The ones who are going to outhustle the other team and find their damn flag, leading us to victory. We'll need a few to stay back and protect this side of camp, too. Anyone want to volunteer?"

"Me," says Dane. "I'm not that fast."

"Me neither." Doran steps forward.

"I want to run," says Mariana. "Can I run?"

"In wedges?" Wes frowns.

"It looks like fun," she just giggles.

"Of course," I say. "I'm not trying to boss anyone around. Everyone else, just choose whatever you want to do. And feel free to switch at any time, but just communicate to make sure we always have enough defenders."

In hearing some of the arguing going on at the other end of the field, I can tell that we're the more organized group. I can't help but attribute much of that to my own leadership. I know it's just a game, but it never hurts to be prepared, right?

When Juliet returns, she also volunteers to stay back and defend our side. As soon as everyone knows where our flag is hidden behind one of the nearby buildings, we break off. I head out towards the boundary line, which is just a long rope raid across the circled gravel road in front of the lodge. Not everything can be a perfect gridiron, I guess.

"Ready to get crushed, Chapman?" Trina sneers from across the road.

"You wish, Trina. You wish."

"On the count of three!" Zara announces, stepping into the center. "One. Two. Three!"

* * *

 **Freya Pritchard.**

 **Fairbanks, Alaska.**

* * *

Everything's happening so fast. It feels like everyone around me knows what they're supposed to be doing, and I'm a few steps behind. I don't get this game. I mean, I've played it before, and I know the rules and all, but I don't get the strategy. And I've always been confused about why sometimes, you can be on the other team's side and sometimes you can't. And what are all those rules about jail again? I'd rather not think too much about it.

Then, there's the whole sports part of it. I don't do sports. I always get really sweaty and gross, which I hate. Add the dirt factor, since we're outside, and it's pretty much the opposite of my dream activity. Instead of running, I find a nice soft patch of flowers, and sit.

This day has just been one twist after another. I woke up thinking I'd be getting my hair and nails done, maybe buying some dresses or something nice. Instead, I'm in the forest. I don't hate it, though. I thought I would, but it's really pretty, and I like mostly everyone here. Jeremiah's here, too, but he's not in my group, sadly. I wonder where he is. He's probably not that into the game, like me. That's what's so great about him. He gets me.

People are shouting as they run around the cabins, chasing each other. I smile. It's nice, but not for me. Nice to watch, though, while I pick flowers. I have a good daisy chain weaved in my hands when Jeremiah finds me.

"What are you doing over here?" I ask, patting the grass next to me for him to sit. "Someone's going to tag you."

"I'm tired of this game," he says. I smile. I knew he would be. "Besides, if someone wanted to tag me, they would have already."

"I could still tag you."

"You could. But if you do, then I have to go to jail, which is all the way over there."

I throw my hands behind me. "I won't tag you. Promise."

"And I promise I won't expose you for fraternizing with the enemy." He grins, then rolls onto his stomach to watch the game going on. "So tell me about your day. Starting with after lunch. Did anything crazy happen in your groups?"

"No, it was so boring! We had to make a fire and they didn't even tell us how to do it. Even Dane couldn't figure it out. Me and Monica just sat there talking about how dumb it was that we were just sitting on the ground for half an hour. The other group's leader guy, Milo, he was really rude to them, but he didn't really talk to me too much. Giselle's our leader, she's really nice and I like her, but she doesn't really know that much about anything. I don't know how she got to work here. She's kind of like me," I laugh. "And then we were going to climb on this big wall, but they wouldn't let anyone, cause apparently someone got hurt in the other group, so we all had to do the ropes thing, and it was really hard..."

Jeremiah always smiles when I talk. He's such a good listener. Sometimes he doesn't hear everything I say, but that's okay. I talk a lot, and I'm happy he likes to hear me talk. I talk for the both of us, and it works out.

We talk for a long time, and hardly anyone notices or seems that worried about us, which is a good thing. Eventually, back on the field, Brandon starts yelling at Chanel on our team. "Hey! It stinks over here! Did someone rip something? Oh, no, it's just Chanel's pants!"

"Hey! It stinks over here, too! Oh, it's just your whole team. Fight me when you've got teammates to back you up!"

"What? My whole team-" He turns around. "Oh. Everyone's in jail. Hey, wait, Jeremiah's still in this thing!" He points to us, and everyone's heads swivel our way.

"Shoot. We'll talk later," Jeremiah says, scrambling to his feet and taking off towards his own side, as Juliet and Doran come barreling after him.

"Bye, J!"

I look around. Now it's just me on the ground. I still don't want to play, even if Jeremiah has to. Luckily, someone else on my team is in the same boat. Seraphina's standing in the back of our side, looking a little lost. "Seraphina!" I call out. "Are you playing?"

She just shrugs. "Come sit," I say, beckoning her over. Hesitantly, she sits down next to me. "What are you doing? You looked all sad over there."

"No," she says. "I'm just not really that good at this game."

"Me neither! It's way more fun to make flower crowns. Here, look at this one I just made."

She nods. "It's pretty."

"Yeah, do you want one? I can make one for you super fast. Here." I get to work.

"It's fine, you don't have to do that..."

"Well, I want to. You're super nice and sweet, you deserve a little something pretty. You know, why don't we ever talk at school? We used to have classes together."

Seraphina blushes. "Thanks. I don't know. I don't really talk to that many people."

"Well, don't be shy. I'm, like, the least scariest person ever."

"This entire group is just overwhelming. I don't really know anyone. I can't help it."

"You know me, sort of. And I can introduce you to Jeremiah and everyone else at dinner! Hey, do you want to sit with us? Everyone's super nice, I promise."

"Oh... I don't know." She looks at her hands, twisting a flower stem in her fingers. "You don't have to do that."

"Well, I want to. No one should be lonely on a field trip like this."

She doesn't say anything for a while, just watches the game. I'm about to ask if she maybe didn't hear me or something when she finally says, "Okay. That sounds really nice. Thank you."

"Don't mention it," I say.

On the field, there's an uproar. Suddenly, four members of my team emerge out of the trees, hoisting Blake on their shoulders. It's like something crazy out of a movie. He's waving the other team's flag in the air and pumping his fist up and down, while Wes is chanting, "We won! We won! No kitchen duty for us, you scrubs!"

"Congratulations to us," Seraphina says. "I think we just won."

"It's all because of us."

When she looks at me, she finally smiles. "Yeah. We're pretty great, aren't we?"

"The best," I say. "Come on. Let's go get some food."

* * *

 **Alexander Grim.**

 **Los Angeles, California.**

* * *

I've never been so exhausted in my life. I mean, I know what it's like to run on two or three hours of sleep— that's not the problem this time. I'm still hungover, though, and after running as much as I did in this last game, my head is killing me.

I didn't have to foresight to keep a lighter or cigarettes on me. After we went through all our stations and came back, I poured everything out of my bag in my cabin. Nothing. No pills, no cigarettes, no medication. After Jackson and Giles dropped their things off and left, I went through those, too. Still nothing. By that point, I was panicking. I'm not used to going so long without a drug to calm me down. I'm doing my best not to look like I feel, which is to say, terrible.

"Hey, Yu," I say nonchalantly to the boy walking on my left. After finishing the game a few minutes ago, we're heading down to the dining hall. "Do you have anything on you right now?"

"Yes...? Oh. No. My bag got raided. Everything I had is gone, pretty much."

"Everyone's is gone..." I try not to look too panicked, though my stomach drops. I've got to get my hands on something, or I don't know what's going to happen. "Gerard thinks the leaders took everyone's drugs for themselves."

"I'm not surprised. They're all sketch as hell. Sawyer creeps me _out_ , man."

"Oh, he's harmless. All talk," Gwen says from Yu's other side, freeing her bright pink hair from its ponytail. "I mean, he signed up to work with kids, didn't he? I bet he has a secret soft side. Maybe he likes dogs."

"Right," I say, rolling my eyes. "When he isn't sacrificing babies and summoning the devil, I'm sure he makes loads of time for animals."

"I was joking, you know. He seems awful. Is he really?"

"Oh, he's not as bad as you think," I say, shoving open the double doors. They stick, so I have to throw my shoulder into them to get them to budge. "I mean, he probably has violent tendencies or anger issues, but other than that, he's kind of a badass."

Inside, an average dinner awaits. A short table at the end of the room holds a couple of plastic bowls of Asian salad, two platters of some boring chicken, and more fruit. Nothing looks good to me. I'm sure it tastes better than the crap they feed us at school, but I'm really not hungry. Still, to avoid unwanted questions, I scoop a bit of salad onto my plate and pick one of the wings off the platter, then fill my water cup to the top.

Yuto and Gwen are deep in another discussion by the time I get to our table. I don't have anything to add to Gwen's political discourse- that's more my sister Rachel's domain than mine. She's the Poli Sci major and the smart one in the family. As I listen, I try to swallow some of the salad, but it doesn't really taste like anything.

Looking at them hurts. I know they're not a perfect couple by any means. Yuto hardly talks about Gwen if she's not with us, and they're not exclusive, but to me, that kind of relationship is way better than none. Whether they're talking or bickering, watching them together just reminds me of how powerless I am. I'm doing everything right and it still all went wrong with the girl I love.

It's so stuffy in here. I need space. Ironic that I'd find myself surrounded by open land, and the only thing I want more than a smoke is some space to breathe. And it doesn't matter what I fill my lungs with at this point. I'd definitely kill for a cigarette, but I could use a run around the lake, too. Just to get my heart beating for a good cause, and quell the knot in my chest that's bordering on suffocating me.

This is stupid. I'm not usually so self-deprecating, but without my usual high, I can't help negative thoughts from creeping back in. _You're better than this. Everyone knows it. Quit feeling sorry for yourself._

"Anyone seen Shane?" Gwen asks, as I take a long drink of water.

"He's probably busy setting something on fire," shrugs Yuto.

"That's classic."

"Yet when I do it, it's 'disrespectful' and 'childish'."

"Oh, you're kidding me. That was entirely different. That was Simone's hair, you fucking-"

And they're off. The arguing gets old really fast nowadays. "Guys, cut it out," I say. They stop and look at me quizzically. "Seriously. No one wants to hear it. Can't you just find one thing not to bitch about?"

I wouldn't be so bitter if Audrey weren't sitting right behind them. I have almost an unobstructed view of her, and as I risk a glance, she tosses her hair and pouts. It's an honest pout, not the type girls like Alaina or Simone do when they're looking for attention. No, Audrey is genuinely just miffed, of course. She probably just hates being off her phone. I want to laugh at how predictable she is. She must hate this place even more than I do, and that's saying something.

 _That'd make a good conversation starter. She wouldn't mind a chance to complain._

Just not to me. No. She hates me. And I don't know why.

You know what? I'm done getting heartsick over her. She's not worth it. I deserve someone who respects me, who doesn't put me down and make me feel so worthless. I deserve better than a girl who's going to let me take her to the prom, then dump me right there for someone better. There's no one in this place who can compete with me. Why can't she just see it?

"Dude, are you feeling okay?" Gwen asks me, concerned. "You look a little pale."

"Of course, I'm pale. You don't see many healthy-looking guys named Grim, do you?"

As she rolls her eyes, I'm spared from actually answering her question by another one of the leaders, who calls out over the chatter of the other students. "Can you all hear me? Please, settle down for just a moment."

"Who is that?" Gwen whispers. Of course, neither of us have the answer. Other than the six group leaders, who we've had ample time to talk to and talk about, the remaining counselors are nameless and insignificant.

The man is dressed strangely. I don't mean that he's wearing women's clothes or horribly clashing designs, but his plaid blazer and golden tie, especially on such a warm day, seem out of place. I don't recognize him from this morning; he must have been shadowed in one of the corners while I was too dizzy to look past the first few women I saw. Now, he stands alone in the front of the room, and clears his throat as the room settles into murmurs.

"Right, then. Thank you. I have two quick announcements. First of all, if anyone is looking to speak to Anabel- although I doubt anyone ever is-" He peers nervously at the other leaders leaning against the wall, though they just shrug in response. "She will be away for the evening, simply checking in on her responsibilities back at the school. If you have any questions, please come see one of us. Now, following dinner, we will be heading up to the rec room for some fun and relaxation before we all meet back in the cabins. Groups Two, Five, and Six will stay here for cleanup, as well as the two students who were spoken to earlier, but the rest of you are free to go once you're all cleared up here. That will be all."

"Ouch. Sucks to be you," Gwen says to Yuto and me, as the man disappears into the back kitchens.

"Like hell I'm doing dishes," Yu scoffs. "Grim, you don't mind taking over for both of us, do you? Fifteen people is way too many to be cleaning a kitchen."

He's gone before I can agree or disagree. Gwen gives me an apologetic smile as she rushes to catch up with him.

Reluctantly, I stack our trays and plates and go to scrape the remaining morsels into the trash. As I shake my head over Gwen and Yuto, I bump into someone, knocking my silverware to the floor with a metallic clatter. "Oh, sorry," I say. When I look up, I freeze.

"Sorry. Should have looked where I was going," Audrey frowns.

"Probably." I stoop to pick up the forks and knives from the floor. "Not like this is the first time you've caused a big unnecessary scene."

She sighs. "Alex, that's not-"

"No. Forget it," I say.

I head towards the far trash bins instead, furiously flinging the salad and chicken scraps into the compost tray. I said I was done with her. And I am. I don't need to go through this again. I don't want her to look at me ever again.

Hasn't she done enough?

* * *

 **Song: I Blame Myself by Sky Ferreira.**

* * *

 **This chapter feels way different from the last few. I'm still trying to find my voice.**

 **Also, this chapter officially puts this story over the chapter count for _Darkest Desires_! Maybe that doesn't mean that much since its last chapter was just a summary (and I've been over the word count since chapter 1) but I thought it was cool :)**

 **Thanks again for reading. Drop a review if you like and I'll see you next chapter!**


	5. Cutting Class

**I promised myself this would be shorter. It's not. Also, Brandon's POV is about twice as long as everyone else's, which I can't help because it pains me to cut any of it.**

* * *

 _If we go down, then we go down together  
_ _We'll get away with everything, let's show them we are better_

* * *

 **Trina Kellington.  
** **Barnard, Vermont.**

* * *

"Oh, give me that," I say, ripping the ceramic plate roughly from Jeremiah's worthless hands. "You might as well just take a nap and wait for this to dry on its own."

"I'm sorry. I wanted to be careful with it."

" _Careful_ isn't going to get us out of dish duty any faster. So keep up!"

I turn back to the mess of dishes still left for us along the counters. Even with tasks divided among us (and rather efficiently, not to toot my own horn or anything), I've suffered through nearly half an hour of this exhausting work. And the idiocy of those around me is _definitely_ not helping. But with two of the counselors barring the only exit, I've been forced to stay put.

You know what? I deserve a break. So I step back to survey the scene, but something's off. It's been a little… _too_ civil. I go down the line, trying to decide what's different. Gerard, Jackson, Nico, and Eimer are at the center island, drying and stacking bowls. Simone and Brandon are supposed to be washing glasses, but judging by the amount of foam in Brandon's hair, that's not really happening. I try not to vomit at the sight of them together. Alex, Madison, and Harper are working in front of the window, while Jeremiah and Griffin are at the nearest sink, where I was. That leaves Chanel, Audrey, and Alaina at the far end.

That's only 15. I know because when I set this up, we had a perfect sixteen. I swear I'm not OCD, but we had a system going. So who screwed it up?

"Someone's gone," I say to no one in particular, knowing someone nearby will hear and wimp into telling me.

"Oh, Gabrielle," Griffin says. "I saw her go in the back a few minutes ago…"

"That lazy, cheating-" I stomp into the back room to chew her out, but she's disappeared. It's just a lot of untidy shelves and scattered dishware. I'm ready to scream at Griffin for lying to me when I realize how much cooler it is in here compared to the stuffy, humid kitchen. Looking up only confirms my suspicions; a lone window is open halfway, just wide enough for the girl's narrow frame to fit through. She must have scaled the closest shelf, and relatively quickly, too, or one of us would have seen her escape.

There's no room for awe or laughter. Immediately my thoughts go straight to fury. Hatred. It's just like her to take the easy way out, as selfish and rebellious as she is.

And showing me up, too! When we're finished with this, people will be talking about her genius escape, not commending me on my brilliant leadership and organizational skills, especially among the most unruly, self-centered people I've ever known. All my earlier pride at putting Jeremiah in his place has seeped out of my stomach and left a gaping emptiness. I can feel my arms trembling.

No. I won't let her win so easily. Taking a second to compose myself and stretch my mouth into a rare, sugary smile, I turn out and head straight to the man and woman guarding the door.

"Gabrielle's gone," I say matter-of-factly. "Thought you should know."

The man, slightly taller than my 5'6" frame but with similar thick brown hair, widens his eyes. But it's his tall, narrow-faced counterpart who speaks up. "We've been here the whole time. There's no way anyone could have gotten out."

"Actually, there's a decent-sized window in the storage room that she _may_ have gotten up to," I shrug.

I watch smugly as the woman scans the room, but among the glove- and apron-clad students, she doesn't find a girl with orange hair to match hers. "Aristotle," she orders. "Check the back."

"Right away."

He ducks his head and goes off. "That was clever of you to catch," says the woman, who I notice has an awfully privileged air about her to be in such a primitive place. I immediately connect with her. "Trina, isn't it?"

"Yes." It's such a relief to speak to someone new as well as worth my company. She doesn't head any of the student groups, but I wish she did. She'd be so much better than that nasty Rosalie.

"You're very assertive. Self-assured," she continues. "I like that."

Before I can gush out a stream of thank-yous, Aristotle has come hurrying back in. "Yes, Aristotle?"

"No one's back there, dear." He turns to me. "You were right."

I try to suppress a grin.

"Well, we'll have to take care of that," the woman- his girlfriend? Wife?- states. "You stay here and keep an eye on these ones so no one else gets any ideas. I'll call Gio… see if we can't track her down." As she speaks, her cheeks flush pink with apparent enthusiasm, like there's nothing she'd rather do. "Thank you, Trina. I appreciate your concern."

"Wait!" Before she goes, I have to stop her. "What can I call you?"

For a terrifying second, I'm worried she won't answer me, or laugh in my face. Instead, after an apparent moment of contemplation, she says, "Davina. I'll be seeing you, Trina." With that, she turns and strides out.

As the door swings shut behind her, I try to determine what's so intriguing about her. She's pretty, yes, but I'm not attracted to her like that. After a few moments, it comes to me. It's her confidence, and the way she demands respect. Which is what I've always been striving for.

Satisfied, I return to scrubbing plates. Seriously, is there no decent dishwasher in this place? Or better yet, where are the maids? I'm trying to legitimately think of the last time I was forced to wash a dish by hand- though lacking in many departments, my parents _did_ have the sense to hire others to do our dirty work- when I realize someone's been staring me down for the last few minutes. When I turn, Alaina only narrows her eyes further, crinkling her nose.

"Cheer up," I say. "It's not like you're the only one who has to do chores around here."

"Would it really have killed you to keep quiet about Gabrielle?"

"Are you really going to stick up for her? She doesn't get to be the only one of us who gets out of things."

"No one likes a snitch, Trina."

I want to protest that it's unfair that _she_ gets to get off scot-free with the rest of us toiling and sweating. But Alaina has a point: no one likes a tattler. I know that all too well, and when am I not the most conscientious person when it comes to how people perceive me?

I swallow the disgust bubbling in my throat and try to focus on the task in front of me. If there's one thing I don't need right now, it's to start turning on myself again. I've got plenty of people wanting to be my worst enemy; I don't need myself to get in line.

 _June 7th. Just wait until June 7th._ It's my mantra; it grounds me. If I can make it until June 7th, I'll have graduated and can be free to act and feel however I want. Until then, this is my rock. It's the reminder that has always kept me from completely falling apart.

* * *

 **Juliet Maudsley.  
** **Peoria, Illinois.**

* * *

It's refreshingly quiet in the games room, though there's a pretty intense game of poker going on at the other end of the room that I'm sure would be fun to get in on. I've never played, though, and both Mariana and Monica say they just want a quiet night, though Mariana keeps looking longingly at the rowdy table. With all the excitement of today, a mellow night sounds fine to me.

As we've sat here and talked, the skies outside have faded from blue to lavender, signifying that our first day is drawing to a close. I'm still not really sure what to make of things. One one hand, I've never gone to a summer camp before, and the whole idea of close groups and new roommates and exploring the mountains seems like fun. On the other hand… I really miss Ragnarok Online.

This game is the definition of a guilty pleasure. There's the social aspect that keeps me playing every evening before bed- I've made amazing friends from across the world through Ragnarok Online- but there's also something satisfying about defeating monsters and tough bosses or questing productively. I wish I could share it with my friends at school, because it's really a fun game. Unfortunately, doing this would almost definitely isolate me from my friends here. Haversmith students can be judgy, and they don't like quirks, they like conformity; I'd be bullied for showing that I had a different interest than everyone else. It's safer to keep it to myself, though I wish I could open up. People don't know what they're missing.

With no service and no laptop, I'm at a loss as to how to entertain myself, even though we have the whole room at our disposal. Where Mariana's acting distracted, Monica just looks fed up and rolls her eyes at any of Mariana's comments, and the conversation's dying anyway. I suggest we go find something to do.

The other two girls follow me across the room to the far wall, where a massive floor-to-ceiling shelf is stocked with everything from games to videos to old books. As we pass the cards table, the boys there erupt into loud arguing. Mariana just scoffs and says, "Who has the energy for this?"

"Just think about how much crazier it'd be with all the rest of them here," I say, neglecting to comment on how she's been acting like she'd rather be sitting there than with us for the last twenty minutes. Seriously, though, Quincy might get heated, but the true rowdiest kids would have to be Simone, Shane, Brandon, and Yuto. Funny, though. Shane was on our team for the game earlier, but I haven't seen him since. Or Blake. Gwen and Yuto were here, but they're gone too. The supervising counselors, apparently, haven't been paying much attention. Or perhaps we're allowed to roam a little more, since this isn't exactly a scheduled activity.

Monica just nods, agreeing with my point. "I hope they have kitchen duty for this whole stinkin' trip."

We scan the assortment of old, beat-up books and board games. The classics: Clue, Monopoly, and Sorry, among others. Decks upon decks of cards for any occasion. Plus full volumes of every dusty old book I was every assigned to read in English Lit and never really got around to (Sparknotes, you saved my life). There's something cute and quaint about the setup, a charm despite- or perhaps because of- all the folded edges and faded labels. Mariana may wrinkle her nose at the odor, but I don't mind it. I feel a sort of happy nostalgia, like I'm young again. Then, of course, the immensity of graduation being in a few days comes roaring back. I'm not afraid of the future, but I'm happy with myself and my place in life, and I'd like to hold onto it as long as I can.

Personal bias aside, nothing really piques our interest. Monica's made it clear that she has little patience for Mariana, so I settle quickly on one of the decks of cards. By the time we realize that three of the queens are missing and two cards have been ripped clean in half, we're all back at the table, and no one cares enough to sort through another pack.

"There's got to be something better than cards," I say.

"There's a patio out back," Monica suggests. "We could look around a bit."

It's good to get fresh air, even if it's freezing on the deck. We press together against the railing and look out across the lake. We've gone out just in time to watch the last colors of a purple sunset glinting off the surface, and we're silent for a while, soaking it in.

I wish I had my phone to capture a photo of it. With the right filters and a cute caption it'd look great on my Instagram feed, which I go to great lengths to make pretty. But as I consider this, it crosses my mind that maybe it's better to be free from my phone for a few days. That unquenchable itch to post and keep my identity tied to "acceptable" things can be frustrating, and the good in this is that I won't have to worry about that while we're here.

In a few minutes, the colors are gone. Mariana, dressed the lightest of all of us in a thin sundress, complains of cold and goes back inside. Then it's just Monica and me, silently watching the night fall.

"People take this for granted," she says, after a pause. "I mean, all of this. Everyone's got their important little lives that they have to run back to as fast as possible, but you have to understand that there's more to living than that. Especially when you're so busy, you have to slow down and go back to the basics. Everything's so much simpler in the woods."

"I like that." People always act like Monica's weird for caring about things like the environment, but I realize how much I respect her for it. She's passionate, and she doesn't worry about what any of us think about it. I could learn from her. "I think I needed this."

"Everyone does. They just don't realize it."

There's a loud thud from inside the building, then a sudden uproar of shouting and laughing. From the glow of the windows, I can see Monica's sharp grimace; we both know what that means. "Sounds like the others are back. There goes my sanity."

I smile apologetically, knowing it's the best I can do. "Well, it was nice while it lasted."

* * *

 **Jackson Stroud.  
** **Sands Point, New York.**

* * *

By the time we're allowed to stop washing dishes, it's completely dark out. I struggle to find my footing and cringe at the dirt that must be pressing into my shoes. A suit and tie is optimal for looking mature and presentable either at school or in town. But in the mountains, I'll admit I'm a little overdressed.

I've just collapsed into a cushioned but weathered chair in the warm game room when Wes and Dane drop into matching chairs around me. "We need to talk," says Wes.

"We really don't," Dane pushes, but Wes shrugs him off.

"It's important. Jackson?"

I keep an unreadable profile, though I can't help my mind from turning straight to Wilma. We've done our best to keep things private, but who knows, in a place like this? "Go ahead…"

"This retreat doesn't make any sense."

I resist the urge to blow out a breath. This is a topic I can handle. "Explain."

"First off, games? Capture the flag? And why are we supposed to talk about ourselves like we're all friends? Everything's so pointless."

"What about the outdoor lessons?"

"Oh, you mean when they made us climb on ropes and told us about all the birds in the area?"

"Fire building is practical."

"Except none of the instructors had any clue how to do it."

I'm silent, trying to consider his point. What he's insinuating by complaining about our activities today. He has a point about the fire station, it was impossible, and the teachers were of no use to us. That's a serious pet peeve of mine. While I have no problem being the smartest in the room, when teachers don't know what they're talking about, that's when I lose respect.

"But maybe it's just supposed to be fun," insists Dane. "Think about that."

I meet Wes' doubtful expression, and understand. "You don't think it's plausible, do you?"

"Business-wise, it's not."

"I agree. And hear me out, Dane, because I think you'll see it makes sense. Room for eighty kids, if you count the other bus, then however many teachers, food for three days, clothes, laundry, power… it all adds up. You know that."

"It's a private school. There's always extra money," Dane frowns.

"Yeah, but we're going down," Wes points out. "Who hasn't heard the rumors?"

"And think about all the budget cuts this year," I press. "They try to keep that secret, but to smart kids like us…"

"And that's another thing!" Wes looks ready to leap off his chair. "Why is everything so secret? Why did none of the teachers know?"

This is much closer to what I'm built for. I thrive on debate, get pleasure from being able to speak intelligently about any topic, business most of all. Unlike that lowly work of washing dishes. A boy like me has always had the means to make others do it for him, and I don't expect that to change. With the future I have in front of me, a Columbia education on the horizon and the certainty that I'll be heading my own business by the time I'm twenty-five, I'm only climbing higher. It's a lofty goal, but if anyone can accomplish it, I can. And that's not just me being arrogant. All my teachers say it, Wilma most of all.

I feel a blush threatening to rise into my cheeks at the thought of her. Unfortunately, she didn't make it out here, just some administrative staff I've somehow never met, two of my sophomore year teachers, and Anabel, of course. But back to Wesley's point, it's remarkable that an event of this magnitude was all kept under wraps. Especially if Wilma knew. No, she would have told me. We're extremely open with one another. Then again, as far as I know, that's not common knowledge, and as special as what we have is, obviously I can't talk about it.

"I'll give them props," I say. "They did a good job surprising us. Not sure it makes a lot of logical sense, though."

The other side of the argument, of course, is that being out of classes is going to hurt us academically. I know, I know it's the last week of school, but there _are_ some finals, end-of-year assignments, and other last-minute work to round out our transcripts. This can make or break some people's college acceptances. I'm not too worried about myself- I've got straight A's across the board, of course, but I want to make sure there are no complications with any paperwork. I've done as much as I can to ensure a bright future, including a little… extra work. But being accepted to an Ivy is the dream, and I don't intend to have anything ruin it for me now.

"Maybe not…" Dane admits. "But maybe it doesn't need to. What's wrong with having a few days to camp and relax?"

The answer: nothing, really. But something still seems off.

Unsettled, I agree to a game of cards with the other two boys. In between turns, I watch the men and women around the room. Some are walking around supervising our activities. Others sit silently on the edges, or talk in low voices to each other. Finally, I stop one of them as he passes our table. He eyes us curiously through his thick-rimmed glasses, like he's surprised to see us here.

"I've got a few questions for you about what normally goes on around here, if you'll humor me."

When he responds, it's in a soft, uncertain voice. "In this room?" he frowns. "I'd think it would speak for itself."

"No, the campsite."

"Well, school groups come, mostly. Or so I've heard. I'm new, you see." New? He's got to be in his mid-fifties, at least. Perhaps he's had similar jobs before. I raise the question, but he shakes his head. "I've never taught. This is all very new to me. I enjoy it, of course, but it's taken me awhile to acclimate."

"What did you do before?"

It seems like an innocuous question, but his face darkens. "Research," he says, but he doesn't expand on the answer. "You know, while I'm flattered by your curiosity, it's probably best I keep moving. There are quite a few of you I'm supposed to keep an eye on." With that, he turns his back and heads toward a far table.

We all look at each other.

"I told you this was suspicious," I say.

"So what? You think the school stole money and hired some frauds to give us an outdoor education?"

"I don't know what they did. I just know it's all a little strange."

"You both are so paranoid," says Dane. "Come on, relax. Kick up your feet and stop trying to overanalyze everything."

But our conversation only raises more questions that I'm not sure anyone here can answer. Maybe we are overthinking it. But I have a pretty good sense for what feels right and what feels wrong, even if I don't always follow it. And something's up with this retreat. I know it.

* * *

 **Brandon Prescott.**  
 **San Francisco, California.**

* * *

If only every teacher or tutor who's ever called me lazy or a loudmouth could see me now. Our entire table has fallen into a concentrated hush, and I've actually followed suit. Not that there's much of a choice, if I want to win this game. So rather than making pointed comments about either of the other remaining players, I focus on the cards as they slide from Blake into my left hand, then to the discard pile on Eimer's side.

"Save that six," Yuto whispers, his lips to my ear.

"Shush. You're distracting me." I take Blake's ace and swap it for my seven of clubs, leaving a pair of fives and aces in my right hand. "See? Two of each."

"Students." A deep, low voice by the far door penetrates our tight circle, but I don't look up to see who it belongs to. "Please finish your conversations and games. We will be heading back to shower and prepare for bed in the next few minutes."

"Not yet!" our table yells. There are only three of us left in the game, though the others have stayed to watch and mutter choice words about getting out. I'm not about to quit, not when I've spent so much time actually trying to win this thing. Blake's card passing accelerates, becomes more frantic. When I find one more five, I give up all sense of order and start tearing through the pile he's giving me. Looking for my one winning card.

By the time I can react to the glint in the corner of my eye, both Blake and Eimer are shouting like fools, spoons gripped in their fists. I lean back in my chair, shocked. "Eimer, you dirty cheater."

She smiles slyly, not denying it. I huff and push my chair out, but as she looks back towards Blake I can't help my gaze from drifting down to her chest. I'm almost certain I'm not the only one who's really seen what's underneath- with a body like that, she can have her choice. She's incredible. It takes a few minutes for Blake to get my attention and pull my cards out of my hand for the next round. Still thinking of Eimer, I don't even make a comment about how three of my cards spell out ASS.

After the final round ends with Blake lurching across the table for the single spoon at the center, claiming victory and getting nasty looks from everyone, we stand to head back. The clock above the exit suggests it's just past nine as we shuffle out into the cold, dark air. Because I have absolutely no clue where our cabin is, I end up just grabbing onto Blake's shoulders and having him guide me back to our little home. Gerard is already inside when Blake pulls open the door and lets me off, and looks like he's already sorted our things for us.

"Towels for all of us-" he points to our respective stacks along the single bed- "then a bag of toothpaste, a toothbrush, soap, and floss. I think our best bet is to change up here after showering and everything. The bath hall is a bit too open."

There's no question that Gerard is the most innocent of the three of us. I don't want to call him naive, because he's probably one of the most brilliant people I know and he's not one to buckle if anyone gives him trouble, but he's more sheltered, for sure. With all the time we've spent in the football locker room, Blake and I have no issue seeing others' bodies. But maybe Gerard does, and since Blake doesn't push the matter, neither do I. Although he's still going to have to deal with my nakedness, if he's going to be sharing a room with me.

Towels tossed over our shoulders and bags clenched in hand, we walk out and down the slope- myself in front, with the other two flanking behind. After a few minutes of making conversation with everyone else peeling out of their rooms, we reach a long, wood-shingled building, where through the top windows we hear echoes of chatter and running water. At the front, we're separated; girls step inside and head towards the right, and boys to the left, to an identical but opposite-facing bathroom. I'm barred from the right side by a young and severe-looking dark-skinned woman, who shoves me back in the boys' direction.

The layout inside is just as worn as the outside. Chipping floor tiles and moldy curtains that block off the row of showers on the left wall. On the middle wall, a line of rusty sinks and a single long mirror, scratched and splotchy. Then, stained urinals and bathroom stalls at the far end. I'm a little disgusted, but I have gone way too long without soap and conditioner, and I need to look pretty again. Chicks dig the rugged look, but there will be plenty of time for that tomorrow. Right now, I just need a nice, hot shower. Preferably with someone else in it.

I strip down in the open, feeling my muscles relax as they're freed of my sweaty shirt, which I pull off as slowly as possible, relishing the eyes that are sure to be on me. Then I unbuckle my jeans and let them slide down to my ankles. With my thumbs on the waistband of my underwear, one of the counselors finally notices. "Prescott, there are curtains for a reason!"

"Oh, it's not like we've never seen his dick before," Wes says, and even I laugh at that.

The room is beginning to turn humid with the steam of the showers, or maybe it's just me as I drop my last layer of clothing and stare at my reflection in the mirror, wholly satisfied. It's not hard to see why so many others want me, or are jealous of me. With muscled arms, a toned chest and thighs, and tanned skin— among other exceptional aspects— I'm nothing short of the full package. I step back into a shower.

The water's choppy, and won't stay warm. I end up jumping around like some sort of idiot as I'm sprayed by alternating bursts of scalding and freezing water. Well, it's no luxury, but eventually I'm clean and stepping back out into the open. I pause, letting everyone else's eyes circle back to my body, before drying my skin as slowly and suggestively as possible. Then, wrapping the towel around my neck, I take care of my next business, making my teeth shine like pearls, all while being perfectly naked.

As I brush, I watch the reflections of the other boys changing. Many are shy, hugging the walls or dressing behind curtains they've drawn tight over the stall. Others are unashamed, like Wes, whose tanned, freckled skin complements his dark curls. I'd find him more attractive if Chanel didn't threaten me every time I said something nice about him. Jeremiah keeps his head and eyes down as he unsteadily pulls on the assigned sweatpants. Before anyone can catch me looking, my eyes latch back onto myself in the mirror. Which isn't hard to do, as I'm clearly the hottest person here.

When my hair's dry, face washed, teeth glimmering, I finish by tying my towel loosely around my waist. With a dramatically melancholic wave of farewell to the others, I step out into the open air.

I don't wait for either of my roommates to finish up. Instead, I hurry to catch up with the girl ahead of me on the path back up to our rooms. Even with her bleached-blonde hair put up in a towel, I'd recognize the back of her anywhere. "Eimer, you busy?"

She stops, tilting her head sideways, curiously. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?" The words lift off her tongue in an accent laced with honey. God, she's so hot.

"They never locked any of the rooms from this afternoon. Besides, there's plenty of time." I grin, sure she can't resist me, but she doesn't bite.

"I'm a little tired. Why don't you ask someone else?"

 _Because I want you_ , I almost say, but I bite my tongue. She might take me for some kind of romantic, which I'm clearly not. "Are you sure you're too tired?" My fingers guide my towel lower, not quite exposing myself but definitely previewing what's underneath. "Because I don't know anyone who wouldn't want some of this."

Her throats reddens and the edges of her lips tip up, but despite the clear offer, she waves me off. "No, thanks. You should try to sleep, too. We have a busy few days ahead."

I watch her go, heading up the slope and disappearing behind the first cabin on the left. Alone, I have no choice but to trudge back up to my own room. She's right, of course, that I could ask someone else, but with her rejection I can't think of anything except sleeping with her. It's a mixture of excitement and frustration, and I can't shrug it off. I'll try again tomorrow. She'll come around.

When I get back to the cabin, Gerard's stretched out on the solo bed, book flipped to the middle. Blake is still getting changed into sweats as I pull the door closed behind us. When he comes back up and stretches, his shirt lifts, revealing a low strip of his stomach. A slight pang flickers in my chest.

"Do you have to do that every time you take a shower?" Gerard shakes his head. "You should have seen the look on Milo's face. He looked ready to kill you."

"He's jealous," I say, dropping my towel to dress in the clothes they left for us. I'd stay naked, but it's too cold. "You know, what's the deal with all the girls around here, anyway? It's like they've all turned into nuns in the forest."

"Who rejected you?"

"Eimer," I grumble. "But she'll come around."

"If you say so," Blake replies. "Anyways, I'm dead tired, so do you want top or bottom?"

"Is that an invitation?"

"It's a bunk bed, damn it."

"Top. I like control."

"Gerard," Blake pleads. "Switch beds with me, please?"

He smiles apologetically. "I can't. Sorry. I'm going to need this window light. You can handle it."

Blake just groans.

I busy myself by flipping through some of the books around the room (they're all terrible) while we discuss the day's events. The lights turn off automatically at ten, at which point the counselors come around, bang on the doors, and shout at us to shut up until seven. After that, we lie down in the dark, silent for a few minutes until eventually, I break.

"Blake?"

"Huh?"

"I'm scared."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not used to sleeping alone. Can you come sleep with me?"

He just chuckles. "Good night, Brandon."

"Night, guys." I turn over and close my eyes, suddenly aware of how weighed down I am with tiredness. As I drift off to sleep, I can't help smiling. _Doesn't kill me to try, does it?_

* * *

 **Audrey Spenser.**  
 **Las Vegas, Nevada.**

* * *

Showering was an absolute nightmare. They time you. They give you the world's shittiest conditioner. And then they squeeze you in with fourteen other girls at the mirror and expect everyone to civilly wash up without throwing elbows or anything.

Needless to say, that was not my experience. Luckily, I have a nice warm bed to look forward to. My cabin is so far away, though. It's as if this... campsite? Retreat center? Whatever it is, I swear it was built strategically to place the bathroom as far away from our rooms as possible. Which means, if I'm seized in the middle of the night by a desperate urge to relieve myself, there had better be bushes nearby. Like hell I'm braving this again if I need to pee.

My only hope is that my two roommates, whoever they are, will be relatively subdued by the time I get to the room. Because I'm not in the mood for polite chit-chat. No, thanks. I have one goal in mind right now, and that's to be horizontal as fast as possible. I didn't get the chance to see who was in my room earlier, what with all the mayhem of getting to our groups and then getting to the showers twenty minutes ago. Maybe it'll be Harper. Please, God, let it be Harper. She's a little weird, but I'll take weird over hyper energy or morning people any day of the week.

The door is cracked as I approach. Through the gap, I can unfortunately make out a whole lot of shouting, muffled though it may be. I close my eyes as I pull open the door, hoping, maybe, when I open them, I won't see who I'm about to see.

I'm out of luck.

"This is MINE!" Gabrielle is screeching in the other girl's face, red-faced and spitting. "I was here first this afternoon _and_ first back from the showers."

"Because you pushed everyone down to hog all the hot water. I deserve it for not being a bitch." Neither Chanel nor Gabrielle look at me as I push inside behind them. I try to shuffle around them, but there's no room. They've uprooted the place. Books are tossed everywhere, pages torn and bent against the walls and shelves. "You were completely out of line earlier. You need to fucking learn how to relax!"

"Oh, I need to relax? You hit me first! I was just playing the game!"

I groan under my breath. This is the opposite of what I was hoping for. "Guys."

"The rules said no tackling, so either you were deliberately trying to hurt me, or you're just really, really stupid."

"Oh, good one," Gabrielle spits. "Come on. Come on. Stop throwing books and square up. Or are you too scared of getting your ass kicked again?"

As they lurch at each other, I push an arm out in the middle of them. "Both of you, please. Shut. Up. For _one_ second."

They slow down for a moment, but don't relax. Gabrielle has a fistful of Chanel's curls that she doesn't want to give up.

"What do you want?" Gabrielle says, not looking away from Chanel.

"Welcome to our lovely room, by the way, we're delighted to have you," Chanel grins. She drops her smile in a second, snarling at Gabrielle's haughty glare.

I look back and forth at the both of them, taking in the frozen chaos, wanting to hold onto this second of peace as long as I can. Gabrielle eventually wrenches her eyes away from Chanel, raising her eyebrows expectantly, and I know I'm going to have to let it go. "Thanks, Chanel," I finally say. "Yeah, can I have top bunk?"

"Um... yeah, sure," Chanel says, frowning. She turns to her feisty counterpart. "You got a problem with that, Gab?"

"Don't start with the name thing," she says. "Audrey, whatever. Go ahead. I'm taking the solo bed anyway."

"No, you're not, because it's mine."

"Great!" I say, getting out of that situation before I get myself crushed between them. I'm not an instigator by any means, but I also don't see any point in getting involved whatsoever in keeping them away from each other's throats. If there's anything I've learned from my stupid reckless brother, it's that you can't control other people's stupidity. So it's really not my problem.

I try to tune them out as I change in the corner out of my towel and into some ugly brown sweats and a t-shirt. By the time I turn back around, it looks like Chanel has won their argument, since she's stretched triumphantly across the single bed. Or maybe Gabrielle just couldn't physically pull her off it, in the end.

Bringing my bag with me, I nearly drag myself up the ladder and collapse onto the top bunk. They're quiet, finally. Normally I'd take more time to wind down, watch some YouTube, reblog a bunch of cat pictures, but some idiot decided that what we all needed to be happier and healthier people was an electronics break. So, I'd better seize this quiet while I have it, because even though my fingers are itching to type something and I haven't heard music in fourteen hours, I'm too damn exhausted to try to cope by doing anything other than sleeping. Drying my hair is one of the sacrifices that has to be made. I press my face into my pillow and anticipate sleep's delicious embrace.

But it's too slow to come with the lights and the heated discussion happening below, and ten minutes later, I've grown impatient. "Do either of you have an extra pillow? I can't sleep."

"I've got one," Chanel says. I hear a muffled "thump", then feel the pillow land on my back. I don't need to open my eyes to know Chanel took the opportunity to smack Gabrielle with it on her way up, and the screaming that ensues only confirms it.

I thank her internally for my pillow, wrapping the other around my head. Two pillows under me and one shielding my ears.

Bring on the fighting, because it's going to take a lot more than that to rouse me from this sleep. I've been waiting all day for this.

* * *

 **Song: Paris by The Chainsmokers.**

* * *

 **I was rushing to get this chapter out before next Tuesday (March 7th) but got bogged down with a lot of things. I celebrated my 18th birthday, softball started, and I swear my teachers are trying to drown me with homework before I graduate. Oh well. Everyone's busy, but I wanted to get at least one chapter out before Tuesday, since that's when I'll be leaving on my own retreat.**

 **The one I'm going on is one of three big senior ones my school does every year, and it's the one that inspired this take on the story. Unfortunately, it's top-secret. No one knows what goes on between 3 PM on Tuesday and 6 PM on Friday, other than that there are no phones allowed and it's supposedly life-changing. The kids don't talk about it, but everyone comes back high on life and hugging each other. Kids who never said a word to each other are suddenly best friends. All my friends went in October or January, but I got put in the last group. So I don't get to experience it until this week.**

 **In a way, this is a very good thing. I need ideas to keep this story rolling until the blood starts flowing, and what better way than to experience it by hanging out in the redwoods with a bunch of classmates? I'll get my own roommate, my own small group, and I guess I'll bond with people or something. The main difference between the two is that ours is super Jesus-centered, with Mass and Confession and silent reflection. People come back super religious. It's wild. Also, as far as I know, no one dies at the end. Or maybe that's the big secret I'm not allowed to know about. Although people are trying to tell me there's a naked hike. I'm not convinced.**

 **Anyway, I'm super excited, and I hope this will add a more personal layer to this story, since things will be fresh in my mind. And who knows, maybe I'll start updating faster (I really hope so).**

 **Thanks again for reading. I'd love for you to drop a review if you're around, since I hardly know who's here anymore (Fanfiction has become a very lonely place these days). Mwah. Love you all. See you next chapter.**


	6. Killing Time

**Yeah, I considered doing one of those April Fool's pranks where I pretended to quit this story, but since it's already been abandoned once, I don't think that would have been very funny.**

* * *

 _We might be hollow, but we're brave._

* * *

 **Simone Collins.**  
 **Los Angeles, California.**

* * *

I spend most of the night drifting in and out of sleep, but I can't get comfortable on my plastic mattress. It doesn't help that Harper keeps rolling over in the bunk above me, and every time the old wood frame shakes, I tense up, convinced it's going to collapse on top of me. As if that weren't enough, Trina snores, like, really loudly.

This cabin even makes me miss my dorm. As cramped and smelly as it is (my roommate unfortunately doesn't take hygiene as seriously as I do) I've never had to worry about things that interfere with my beauty sleep, like spiders. Or snoring. Or shouting and banging on my door because _apparently_ that's the acceptable way to wake people up when you're living in the middle of the freaking woods.

"Morning, kids!" comes a distinct, cheery voice through our door at the opposite end of the cabin. There's a sharp jangling of keys before light floods into our room, and I squint, raising my hand to fend off the assault on my eyes. "Hope you all slept well. I have to go wake all the others up, but I'm just here to let you know to be down at breakfast by 7:30!"

"Wha... what time is it?" I yawn. My eyes are still blurry with sleep, and Anabel's silhouette in the doorway looks like it's glowing in the dim pink light.

"6:33," she says, almost apologetically. "I meant to come by sooner, but with all the chaos of getting back here last night, well, I missed my first two alarms."

"And _why_ , exactly, do you need us up at the ass-crack of dawn?" Trina grumbles, her voice muffled by a pillow.

"So you'd have enough time to get ready, of course. I don't want you to worry about rushing breakfast. Oh, by the way, here are your clothes for today." She reaches into a cart behind her and tosses three packs into the middle of the room, where they thud against the floor. "Remember, 7:30 sharp. And don't be late, or you'll miss the waffles!"

"What the hell is wrong with that woman?" Trina groans after the door shuts again, flopping back against her bed. I'm too groggy to answer. I roll back over.

I wake again some time later, when the light slipping in the far window is golden, not pink. Trina's struggling with her hair, it appears, and I figure her cursing is what woke me up. I crawl to my feet, struggling towards the clothes pile in the center of the room. Harper is gone- probably got out of here at the first opportunity, and I can't blame her, with Trina in one of her moods. Neither of us wanted to fight with Trina over the single bed last night, and I don't think a shaky night's sleep helped her attitude at all.

"Time check?" I ask.

"Oh, about 7:20," Trina says matter-of-factly.

A ripple of panic shoots through me, propelling my body towards the remaining pack on the floor. I need more time! I need to shower! I didn't shower last night because everyone knows sleeping on wet hair gives you dandruff and besides, showering in the morning helps me start the day fresh. I _have_ to shower, I have to look good, and I don't care where we are! I'm a three-time beauty queen. I have _standards_!

"Oh my god, oh my god." I literally haven't been this stressed since, like, February. At school, whenever I wake up two hours late, I just don't leave the dorm because I don't let people see me without makeup. Wait. I pause, loosening my fist from the plastic package. Who needs breakfast? Who needs any of this? I don't have to leave if I don't want to. I could easily claim homesickness or food poisoning or something. I've been told I'm a gifted actress. "I changed my mind. I'm not leaving."

"Oh, honestly." Trina grabs my arm and pulls me towards the doorway. "You need to shower. You reek, and I am _so_ not rooming with someone who smells like dirt and B.O."

I sniff indignantly, but grab my clothes, bath pack, and a towel. She slams the door in my face.

I wrap the towel around my head as I trek down to the bath hall, careful to hide myself. I don't want anyone else seeing my beautiful face like this, all oily and bumpy. It's an embarrassment, frankly, an insult to my image. My beauty sets me above the rest, and if I look _average_ , I'm worthless. I make it all the way down before I run into another girl coming out of the bathroom. Before I can duck my head away, Seraphina offers me a small smile as she walks by; toothpaste lines the edges of her mouth. "The water's a little spotty, just warning you," she says.

Spotty? Inside, after checking for other unwanted spectators, I step into a shower, leaving my clothes folded on the floor, and twist the taps. The showerhead spits icy cold water over my hands, making me shiver. I turn the hot water as far as it will go, but the temperature doesn't improve. Well, great.

I rush through my normally laid back shampooing routine as the ice water stings like needles on my back. As I lather, the water pressure starts to lighten, but playing with the taps does nothing to help either that or the temperature. This even makes me miss the hairy school showers, that's how bad it is.

But it gets worse. Foam still coats the front of my forehead when the water clicks off completely.

I don't think the showers are on timers. Mariana must have spent fifteen minutes in hers last night while I was waiting to wash my face at the sink and I've hardly been here for five minutes. Shivering, I dart into the next shower and spin the handles. But other than a few lingering droplets, this one doesn't budge, either.

My panic from this morning comes creeping back. Every shower is as useless as the first. I wrap myself in a towel and move towards the sinks, hoping to dunk my head under a stream of warm water, but they're dry, too. Every last one.

"I haven't even _conditioned_..." I moan.

Deep breaths. I can work around this. Carefully, I dab the remaining shampoo out of my hair with the edges of my towel, then work through my tangles with a comb. I'm cursing myself for not keeping leave-in conditioner in my purse, since every tug is agonizing. But I have to be careful. No split ends... no tears...

When I've finally worked every knot from my head, I risk a look up in the mirror. And then I choke.

My hair is _frizzy_.

I burst into tears.

* * *

 **Dane Hanson.**  
 **Springville, Utah.**

* * *

" _Bless us O Lord, for these thy gifts_..."

I finish the rest of the prayer under my breath and tap my forehead and shoulders. As I straighten and pull myself forward to eat, Doran slides his tray in across from me. Nothing shows how opposite we are like our breakfast plates. I keep things pragmatic and uncomplicated: a neat bowl of oatmeal topped with blueberries, a cup of fruit, buttered toast, and a glass of watery orange juice. Doran, on the other hand, has stacked his plate high with a tower of waffles, which he's drizzled with syrup and dotted with berries. As I watch, for flair, he starts tracing strawberry yogurt around the edges.

"Would it really kill you to just eat a normal-looking breakfast?" I ask, shaking my head.

"Yes," he says solemnly. "Besides, sitting across from you, I need _something_ pretty to look at."

I roll my eyes. Doran's so frivolous sometimes that I can hardly talk to him. And yet, he's my closest friend here. I often wonder why.

"Well, if you're looking for pretty things, you're in luck. I heard some of the counselors talking in line, and it sounds like there's some creativity activity this afternoon."

"Really?" Except he says it with a mouth full of dough, so it comes out more like, _Ruffluff_? Unashamed, his eyes light up as they are wont to do whenever the potential for design comes up, the artist and model that he is. People typically assume that there's an artsier side to me as well, for all the time we spend with each other. Not so much. I guess, technically, writing could be considered my creative outlet, but I'm abnormal in that I prefer the objective essays of English and History classes over imaginary stories. "Wonder what it'll be," he muses, digging his fork into the other side of his "masterpiece".

I try my own oatmeal and am surprised at the sweetness. Despite last night's dinner I suppose I expected something bland and flavorless, the stereotype of camp food. It's not nearly as good as something I'd make for myself, but for a run-down old place like this, I'm pleasantly surprised. I'm glad to know the staff are earning their keep.

The food seems to have everyone in good spirits. As more and more students shuffle in, the clattering of their silverware and laughing voices covers Doran's next words.

"What did you say?" I ask.

"I was just wondering if you think they'd make us do more river drawings." His eyes crinkle, playful.

"I sure hope not." Talking in front of people has never been my cup of tea. Even if I am as brilliant as I'm told, I don't like to stand up in the spotlight for presentations. Especially since yesterday, there was an almost hostile energy in our room. Maybe it was Milo's strange presence, or Gabrielle's dark mood, but I felt no inclination to share any of my secrets. Not that I have anything worth hiding.

"If you're scared about sharing, you did fine. Believe me, everyone else was just shitting their pants because you always talk like you're forty years old."

"I do n-" Okay, I do. "It's not like I can help it."

"You could, if you quit reading books from the sixteen-hundreds. Who are those guys? Shakespeare, Malton...?"

"Milton," I correct him, almost lazily. " _Paradise Lost_."

"Right. A classic. In other words, another book by a boring old man, for a boring old man like you." He twists his fork around again and takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "You know, these waffles are a little too dense."

"That's because they made them out of your brains," I counter.

We start to chat with Jeremiah, Freya, and Seraphina as they join our table, but I soon tune out of their pointless conversation, starting to wish I had a cup of coffee to wash my meal down with. I envy the leaders, whose vibrant chatter can only be attributed to the tall black Thermoses they sip from. I'm glad I exhausted myself enough yesterday to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow last night, or else I'd be sleepwalking like a few of the other students. Audrey and Nico look especially exhausted. And Simone... what happened to her?

Her eyes are red-rimmed, blotchy and glinting with the remains of tears, and she has her sweatshirt hood pulled tight around her face. I've never seen her wear a sweatshirt, though I guess here we're all required to wear whatever we're given. I chew more quietly, trying to pick up on what's made her so upset, but hearing that it's just because she didn't get to condition her hair makes me want to scoff. Seriously, what is with people? Doesn't anyone have anything more remarkable or meaningful that whether or not they had a perfect shower? I mean, who really cares?

As I stand to bus my plate, though, I realize the strangeness of her situation. Why would all the showers and sinks suddenly stop working? It's not natural. It makes no sense to me.

Doran passes me his plate and the remains of his elaborate breakfast, and I wrinkle my nose. I didn't offer to take his. But making a scene would just confuse him, so I act like it's just what I intended to do when I stood up. Freya, luckily, grabs the rest of the plates from our table, though I can't help wondering if she'll slip and break something before she gets there. She's hopelessly clueless. I just hope it's not contagious.

After scraping my plates and leaving the silverware soaking in a tub of suds, I join the pack of students milling around by the doors. Staff lurk among the tables, clearing leftover dishes, and I wonder why I didn't just leave mine, too. _It's their job. You're supposed to let them do it_. I make a mental note to remember to be more selfish. I'll need to get used to having others do my chores for me, with the kind of lavish lifestyle I'm expecting to lead.

The doors open, finally. But not from the inside. I press back to let the two figures come in. One is Sawyer Krebbs, Jackson's leader. The other is Shane, whose arm is spotted red and white with the force of Sawyer's grip. Both males' hair and clothes are sopping wet.

"What's the issue?" Davina approaches the pair slowly. "And what are you doing all wet?"

"I practically saved this kid's life," Sawyer spits. Shane tugs against his arm, to no avail. "He was nearly drowned by the geyser he caused by busting up those pipes."

* * *

 **Gwen Chamberlain.**  
 **Hyannis Port, Massachusetts.**

* * *

"Shane, you _idiot_ ," I hiss, as Sawyer drags him into the back of the room.

No one wants to stick around and see what happens. Instead, as soon as the doors open, we predictably do the one thing you'd expect a group of crazy, nosy seniors to do: run outside and check out the damage.

Considering the size of our camp and the fact that we don't have any idea where Shane and Sawyer came from, I'm expecting it to be more difficult to find the source. But Griffin finds it first: a stream of water bouncing down the dirt slope that took us down here. Muddy water is starting to pool by my feet, and I take a wide step around it.

Unlike some of the crazy people racing up the hill, I take my time. There's no reason to make a big deal out of something that's probably not even that impressive. Still, I'm a little curious, which I guess is the only reason why I don't just stay put at the bottom.

By the time I climb to the upper part of camp, I can distinguish a faint roar of water from somewhere ahead. The driveway in front of the lodge is glimmering, flooded. I don't know how deep until I come around the side of one of the cabins and finally see the giant freaking geyser that's spraying water into the air.

That stops me.

Some people stand around the edges of the water, trying to get close without their toes getting wet. Others keep their distance, laughing or eyes wide in surprise. Me? It's hard to decide what I feel. Not awe. Shane's still an idiot. So is Yuto, who's whooping and hooting like he's twelve. But just basing off the sheer quantity of water that's been lost so far... I'm almost impressed.

But I don't condone it. Monica takes the words right out of my mouth when she mutters, "This is such a waste of water."

I don't think the adults know what to do. Whatever meager training they had to prepare for a group of high school kids likely didn't involve one of said kids fucking up their entire plumbing. Various degrees of fury play across their faces, while some just look crestfallen. I don't feel bad. They've been bitches to us, to me, for the past day.

The two closest to me– I don't know their names, they're not any of the group leaders– hiss at each other in voices too agitated to keep down.

"...fix it?"

"The best we can do is try to shut it off. You know it's safest to keep away from outside–"

"But the showers–"

"We can't."

"Cooking?"

"We'll have Chanchai make a run–"

"But _showering_..."

"Okay, okay. We'll get a room over in the next town. Good?"

"But–"

"Don't start. That's the best I can do. You don't get to fuck this all up–"

"Students!" A faraway male voice struggles to make itself heard over the rush of water still bursting from the ground. "Meet with your leaders immediately. We're heading out!"

"Are we hiking again?" Freya shouts.

"Yes!"

I groan, and I'm not the only one. Simone crosses her arms over her chest. Wes sits in the mud, refusing to move. Alaina just pouts. And I hate to agree with all the prissy bitches... but I feel the same way.

I blame it on my feet. Hiking on my own is fun. Hiking with some buddies to smoke is better. But hiking in my Doc Martens, which have always given me blisters on my toes, is painful. I refuse to wear the shoes they gave us, though, and it has nothing to do with how plain or ugly they are. I'm a unique person, and I like to look different. That's the inspiration behind my bubblegum pink hair and my distinctive style. I deserve some sense of individuality.

Apparently the man didn't expect resistance, because he hesitates before yelling again. "Did I stutter? Go!"

No one's afraid of him though, and I'm in no hurry. Eventually, I drag myself over to where the counselors have collected next to one of yesterday's meeting rooms.

"This all of you?" says Baptiste, as I come stand next to Quincy. Seraphina trails behind me.

"I don't know, does three equal five?"

"Careful, Chamberlain."

"And seriously, what's with the last names?" It's not just me. They refer to us by our last names while talking to each other, as well as to our faces. It's out of place, like we're at a military camp, and that's the last place you'd ever find me. "Does it make you feel powerful over a bunch of eighteen-year-olds? Or did you just never figure out any of our names?"

"Oh, give me some credit. Chamberlain just sounds so much sweeter than _Gwendolyn_ , don't you think?"

I cringe. "Disgusting. Do me a favor and never say that again."

"Of course," he says. "Or not, since now that I know it bothers you, I'll start using it at every opportunity." Baptiste grins boyishly; he's too annoying to find attractive. "How's that?"

"Don't you dare."

"You shouldn't have brought it up then, Gwendolyn." He sneers, but it doesn't produce the desired effect. He couldn't look intimidating if he tried.

Chanel and Wes finally decide to show up– I'm a little disappointed in myself for not being the last person here, but oh well– and Baptiste turns. "Now that we're all here, we're going on a little walk. Come, come."

Like sheep, we follow. I don't talk. All I know is that we're following a very questionable path up through the trees, and nobody else is coming the same way as us, unlike yesterday.

"Is this hike going to be as long as yesterday's?" Wes complains.

"Depends on when I decide to stop," Baptiste says. "Though for that, I might make you keep going further."

Wes cleverly decides to keep his cocky mouth shut.

After a few minutes of walking, I'm too curious to let my questions keep simmering inside me. I catch up to Baptiste. "So what's going to happen with the water?" I ask. It seems like a tame enough question. "Are we not going to have running water?"

"What makes you think that?" he says, breathing hard. I'd call him out on his bluff– he's not going to take us too far up if he can't even make the trip himself– but I don't want to distract from my question.

"I overheard some things. Your friends suck at whispering."

"Hmm." He's silent for a long moment– trying to craft an elaborate but convincing lie, I'm sure. Finally, he answers honestly. "I don't know. But if I were to guess, I'd say yes, we're not going to have water."

"And why can't you fix it?"

"Have you seen this place?" he scoffs. "It's so old that it's falling apart on its own. That's true of the piping, too. If Curran hadn't done whatever he did, I bet someone accidentally flushing a tampon would have made a pipe explode somewhere." I chuckle lightly, but he's not in a joking mood. "By the time we get someone around to fix it, you'll all be gone, anyway. It's not worth it."

"You're just going to let someone else take care of your problems for you?"

His eyes flash with anger, and I step back. "Listen, Gwendolyn. Your attitude is way old. You think you know everything, and you know nothing." He exhales, still shaking with anger. I don't know what got him so heated. "It's just classic. You're so spoiled that you don't understand consequences. But guess what. Your idiot friend just doomed you all to taking baths in the lake and shitting behind trees for two more days. And I have no sympathy. So have fun dealing with your own stupidity, because I have no plans to help you."

He stalks forward. I hang back. Not because I'm afraid of him. But because he's too childish to keep arguing with.

I'm not even close to spoiled. Yes, I have money, but I've made a point not to turn into the prissy girl my parents had such big hopes for. And if he thinks that's who I am, then he doesn't know shit about me. Especially since he somehow thinks I'm happy with this recent turn of events.

I like running water, thank you very much. So joke's on him. I'm pissed. And when we get back, I am _so_ going to kill Shane.

* * *

 **Eimer Otero.**  
 **Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia.**

* * *

After a steep hike– not as far as yesterday's, but long enough to put some pressure on my calves– Zara finds us a nice spot in the sun with a view of the nearby mountains. I sit with my back against a felled tree, twirling flowers between my fingers. Alaina and Simone are to my left, whispering heatedly about something. They haven't said a word to me since we left camp. Yuto stretches and leans back, lying in the grass, and Gerard rests against the other end of our tree, looking thoughtful.

Zara's fiddling with the papers in her hand, so we wait. I want to join Simone and Alaina's conversation, but I'm getting the feeling I'm not wanted. I already feel like I've bothered them enough.

This just isn't where I belong. Maybe it looks like the opposite, since I'm always with Simone and Alaina. We're all together, and Yuto's here, and he's so fun. And Gerard, who's so nice. And smart. But these people don't really like me, not the way they like Trina and Chanel and Brandon and everyone else who's so interesting and not dumb, like me.

Enough wallowing. There's no use feeling sorry for myself without at least trying to make an effort. So I smile and tap Alaina on the shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, we're just talking about this crisis."

"What crisis?"

"I don't know if you noticed, but we're kind of having water issues. Which means we're all going to have to squat in the woods like a bunch of savages."

"And I need to wash my hair," Simone sniffs.

"Can't you just wait until we get back to camp...?"

"Honestly, keep up, Eimer." Alaina scoffs. "You don't get it. I'm not just talking about this hill. There's no water at camp because Shane fucked everything up."

"Oh." That explains why everyone was so freaked out earlier. Wait, no water? Isn't that really bad? "Are we going to die?"

"Eimer, do you ever think before you open your mouth?" Yuto asks.

"Sometimes..." I grin apologetically, but deep down, my chest sinks. "I just want to make sure we're all going to be okay."

"Not taking a shower for two days isn't going to kill you," says Zara, who has finished gathering her papers together. "Now, here are pens and your journals from yesterday." She hands the stack to Gerard to pass down. "Again, feel free to write anything and everything you want in them, they are yours to keep. Before we start with your activity, there are questions for you to answer on a sheet inside your books. Remember that your answers are one hundred percent confidential, and I will not be reading them, so don't be afraid to be honest. They are solely meant to get you thinking about yourself."

I didn't write anything yesterday. I wonder if I should have, since all that's in mine are a few doodles, things like trees and beaches and home. The half-sheet is tucked between the first two pages. I lift it up and, slowly, read.

 **1\. What would you consider to be your greatest strength?**

Well, this test is starting out just great. I've never been good at answering these sorts of things. Maybe I should take a look at the others before I try to struggle through this one.

 **2\. If provided the opportunity, what is the one aspect of your life that you would change?**

I sneak a look at Gerard. He's too far for me to read from his paper, unfortunately, and I wish I could. He knows what he's doing, as he nods and scribbles notes down. I'd ask him what an "aspect" is, but it would be rude to distract him. Instead, I look at the last question.

 **3\. How tough are you, and why?**

Now this is just unfair. They couldn't have given us a multiple-choice test? Not that I don't fail those too, but if you pick C every time, you're bound to at least not get a 0. I crinkle my nose. School– well, honestly, all thinking– has never been my strong suit. But I've got to try. I'm not just going to accept that I know nothing; I'm better than that.

The one question I keep coming back to is the second one. I still can't figure out what the hell an aspect is, and all I keep thinking about is that it pretty much contains the words "ass" and "pec" which are both very important features on guys. I need to focus. If I just pretend that word isn't there, I think the question is asking what I would change about my life to make me happier. Once I can start thinking about it in that way, the answer reveals itself, in a way that answers rarely do.

 **2\. Mom and I would still live in Australia.**

I belonged back home. I had loyal, kind friends, girls I knew I could trust. Boys who didn't just see me for what I looked like, and didn't just try to get me to sleep with them. I had tennis, I had great trainers, and I had my mom, before her job took us across the ocean and made her too busy to have a good relationship with me. Everything is different in America. And as hard as my social life gets, I think I miss my mom the most.

That leads me to the third question. How tough am I? For a girl who was voted most popular, I'm more fragile than I want to admit. More doubtful of my role in people's lives. I'm about to say that I'm not, I'm not tough at all, but I stop before my pen touches the paper. People don't think I'm upset if they don't see it. I guess there's bravery in putting a smile on everyday, regardless of what people say about me. And it's not easy to keep trying to be kind, day after day after day. But I do it. I want to.

 **3\. I haven't broken down yet. I'm as tough as I have to be.**

The others are waiting for me. I must have spent longer than I thought on those two questions. Quickly, I scribble something random for the first question– that one would have taken days to answer, anyway– and sit back to let Zara talk about the next activity, letting her words drift in and out of my ears like ocean waves.

Alaina and Simone have been sitting with me the whole morning and have barely registered that I'm here. For once, I realize that these would never have been the girls I'd be sitting with back home. I guess I've just gotten so caught up in appearances and expectations, and since I'm dumb and pretty, I'm expected to be a part of their group, with girls who gossip and boys who get too close. But I'm not like them. I can't share secrets with them. And as long as that's true, I will never be comfortable here.

* * *

 **Chanel Agresti.**  
 **Scarsdale, New York.**

* * *

"The other leaders and I convened after yesterday's meetings," Baptiste explains, pausing in front of our group. "After the... _failure_ of those group sessions, we decided to take a different approach."

"What do you mean, failure?" Gwen narrows her eyes. "We did what you told us to do."

"Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are," he admits. I snort at that. "Unfortunately, your sharing, while... nice... was not as provoking as we were hoping. In layman's terms, you guys aren't opening up to each other."

"To be fair," I interject, "you can't really expect us to just start talking about our biggest secrets with a group of people we barely know." _Or know too well, and hate._ I shake my head. "Forcing us isn't going to help."

"Exactly right," he says. "Which leads us to this." He grips a folder between his hands- tan and well-groomed, like the rest of him- and draws a single sheet of paper out of it before tucking the rest away. "Rather than sitting here and expecting you to talk to each other, I will be giving you this page of questions, and then I will be leaving you alone."

My outburst of "What?!" comes at the same time as Gwen's "Thank god," and she chuckles at my expression.

"I've led you all up here to provide ample privacy while you talk. It's important that there is some sense of confidentiality, otherwise there's going to be fear in opening up. And because I'm not one of you, it's not my place to intrude. Whether you want me here or not." He winks.

But he and Gwen have both misread it. Yeah, Baptiste is smokin' hot, but it's not necessarily him I want as much as the presence of someone superior to stand between Wes and me. As much as I want to deny it, I still feel threatened by Wes. I don't know if I can handle being next to him for this long.

"Some reminders of ground rules," Baptiste says, stretching. "You are not required to share anything you don't want heard. That said, I've found it to be quite therapeutic to share my troubles with others."

"Does that mean you're going to tell us about your dark, scary past?" Gwen asks.

"No fucking way."

"Just checking."

"Another important note," he continues. "Respect. It's critical. Respect that people have things they want to talk about. Making fun of them isn't just rude, it's downright insulting. There's definitely a place for mocking people-" _Classic_. "-but it isn't here. Got it?"

Seraphina hums, looking nervous. The rest of us just nod.

"I'll be back in forty minutes. Try not to kill each other in the meantime." Scooping up his papers, he turns and disappears into the trees.

We're silent, the paper resting in the grass in the middle of our circle. No one wants to be first. I lean back on my hands, sighing. I'm supposed to be relaxed. The sky is bright and blue, the sun is warm on my face, and the woods are beautiful. But _his_ presence shakes me.

 _You're stronger than this. Come on, Chan. That was a year ago_. If I thought myself into this, I'm going to have to think myself out of it. I remember my answer for the last journal question. I didn't answer the why part of it because despite Baptiste's claims I wouldn't put it past him to read what we've written, to snoop. But I put something honest.

 **3\. How tough are you, and why?**

 **Tough as nails. You fuck with me, I fuck you up.**

It's true. I smile. I refuse to let Wes have any power over me. I was weaker then. I'm untouchable now.

"I'll start," I announce confidently, lurching towards the paper. Scanning the first question, I grin. _Perfect_. "Name one thing that makes you happy, and why. Easy. Volleyball, because I'm good."

"You're playing somewhere, right?" Quincy asks. It's the first thing I've heard him say all day. I don't know why people are so afraid of him; he usually backs off of me. You just have to show him you have a backbone.

"Yup. George Mason. It's in Virginia."

"That's so cool," says Seraphina, and I smile proudly.

But of course, Wes has to ruin it. "It's not that good of a school."

"You're really going to do this, Wes?" Gwen glares. She's seen too much of it; we've been picking fights since yesterday morning. That's what you get for putting us in a group together.

"Well, it's D1," I answer Wes. "Not that that'd mean anything to you."

"It doesn't. Because I picked my school on selectivity. I didn't jump at the first offer I got because I wasn't desperate or afraid that no one else would want me."

Infuriation, frustration, the type of overpowering anger only Wes can bring out of me heats up inside me and, no doubt, rises into my cheeks. And shame, at being offended so easily. "That is _not_ -"

"Are you deaf, Wes?" Gwen's mad too, even if she doesn't get it. "Did you hear anything Baptiste said?"

"He's an idiot. I'm not taking orders from him."

"Oh, this is so not about your pride," I hiss.

"Shut up!" Quincy yells, making us all jump. "Shut the hell up. Nobody gives a shit about all your stupid drama. So get over it."

I set my jaw. Wes stays quiet. So do I.

"Great start, guys," Gwen mutters. "But whatever. Everyone's answering this one, yeah? So Seraphina, you're up."

Gwen seems to have gracefully filled the role of mediator in our group, which I'm thankful for. But if Wes doesn't respect her, then what does it matter?

He leans toward me as Seraphina uncertainly starts talking. I ignore him, but somehow, I'm not hearing anything she's saying.

"You've got nothing on me," he whispers, quiet so Gwen won't see. "You never will."

I don't hit him. If there's one thing I learned from Monday's fiasco it's that it only encourages him. It lets him know he's gotten to me, and I refuse to give him that satisfaction. Nor do I curse him out, like I so want to. Or stomp off dramatically. Even though I've never been shy about garnering attention.

I just keep my expression neutral and look like I'm paying serious attention to Seraphina. She loves tennis, apparently, which is surprising; I assumed she'd say music, since everyone knows her as the violin girl. I ask how long she's been playing.

"Since I could hold a racquet," she says. "It's my favorite escape."

 _Escape_. I smile, hiding my uncertainty resulting from her choice of words. There's no escaping him here, not physically. So the best I can do is focus on distracting myself by being an active listener, acting like I care when Quincy talks about tackling people and Gwen describes the political marches she does. Keeping him out of sight and out of mind.

So I don't flinch when he grazes a finger over my shoulder. Not today. He's not even here. And that's the way it should be.

* * *

 **400 Lux by Lorde.**

* * *

 **I literally wrote this entire thing yesterday and today, which is some sort of record for me. I mean, I didn't leave the house, but whatever, it's still cool. Yay for fast(ish) updates!**

 **Also, I survived my retreat, and no one died, and it was just overall a really lovely experience. That's all I'm going to say at this point because revealing anything else might spoil parts of this story. But I had a beautiful and happy four days, and I got a Jesus necklace out of it, and a Spotify playlist full of religious songs, so what more do I need?**

 **I do think updates will be coming faster. I have more certain plans for upcoming chapters, so I won't have to come up with everything from scratch like I have been. Still, with AP exams coming up, college visits and decisions, and softball taking up time, I again can't promise anything.**

 **So yeah! Hope you liked these five. This is actually the last set of introductions- since I didn't get all the forms in the end, I decided to stick with 25 POVs rather than all 30. This means Doran, Wes, Nico, Quincy, and Giles will not be getting first-hand accounts. It actually works out perfectly, though: each character will have exactly 1 more POV before the Games begin. I wish I could say I planned it that way, but it just turned out to be a perfect accident.**

 **As always, I'd love to see a review if you're reading. General thoughts, specific opinions on each person, whatever you want. If you're around, I'm happy.**

 **Till next time!**


	7. No Return

**Note: This chapter picks up where the last one left off, with one more peek at group connections. It's mainly conversation, too, so if you're looking for more action just bear with me for one more chapter. Also, I don't know why both of Alaina's pre-Games POVs in this story take place at lunch.**

 **And... it's been way too long. Again.**

 **...Sorry.**

* * *

Chapter 7: No Return.

* * *

 _It's only half-past the point of oblivion_  
 _The hourglass on the table, the walk before the run._

* * *

 **Freya Pritchard.**  
 **Fairbanks, Alaska.**

* * *

Out on the mountain, all my worries melt away. The grass sways under my fingers and the sun warms my skin. Leaning back on my hands, I survey the clouds in the distance and the trees far below. Sometimes it's hard to pay attention to who's talking when there's such a gorgeous view from the side of the mountain. But no one seems to mind my distraction.

As time has passed, it seems like we've all started to relax and say more of what we're thinking. Some unspoken barrier has fallen and I've realized that these are people I can trust. It's gratifying when Juliet and Shane laugh at my silly comments because it's not out of cruelty. Even Giles, who's more serious than the rest of us, has opened up enough to comment on the stupidity of some of the questions on the paper, a tirade which leaves me in stitches. Making us have a conversation that's so scripted sounds dumb, and yet, it actually works.

"Okay, now _this_ is a question," Monica reads. " _What's the scariest thing you've ever done?_ " She turns to Shane, and deadpans, "If you don't talk about that pipe exploding from under you this morning, I'll be impressed."

"That was nothing," he says. "Believe me, what's worse is this crazy paranoia I've been feeling all day. I mean, all they did was lecture me, but I seriously fucked everything up."

We look at each other, solemn for the first time in a while. "That _was_ kind of stupid of you," I point out.

Monica shoots me a look, and I realize I've spoken aloud. But Shane doesn't get mad. "I know," he says. "Not one of my finer moments. I swear I didn't mean to make things harder on you guys. I just wanted to go home."

"It _is_ kind of inconvenient, not having running water..."

"My hair is going to be so _greasy_..." I groan.

"...But you didn't ask to be here," Juliet continues, frowning. "None of us did. I guess I can't blame you for trying to leave."

"You all don't deserve to deal with it, though. If I could find a way to put all of this on myself, I would. You know I would."

"It's kind of exciting, actually," I say. "We're roughing it now. Living like our descendants-"

"Ancestors..." Giles grimaces.

"Same thing," I say. "Just think about it! Maybe we'll have to drink out of rivers, or squat in the woods..."

"They'll probably make us drink our own piss," Giles says. "Since they hate us so much."

"That can't be so bad," I reason. "They do it on those survival shows all the time. It's just like lemonade."

"Exactly. Just like it. I'll give you twenty bucks to try it."

I'm ready to take Giles up on the offer when Shane cuts in. "No, it's not just like it. Giles, shut up and leave her alone."

"I'm just playing," he scowls.

Shane didn't have to defend me. I always fall for jokes like that, and really, those kinds of comments don't bother me. I can't hide it- I'm hopelessly easy to fool, so I might as well accept it and make the best of who I am. "It's okay. I guess I'll try to stay away from... drinking pee then." I shudder. I can't even get my _nails_ dirty without cringing.

"Shane, you never answered the question," says Monica. "Scariest thing."

"Right." Still glaring at Giles, he relaxes somewhat as he dives into his story. "Scariest thing ever... shit," he chuckles. "That has to be from sophomore year. Me and a couple other kids- I don't really remember who, doesn't matter anyway- we went up to the teachers' floor to jack some liquor or something, you know Callan's drunk half the time anyway, so we knew we could get something there. He's usually down on security duty at that hour, so we pick the lock on his dorm, go in, no one's there, and we're digging through his drawers when our lookout starts banging on the door. Anyways, the girl with me- wish I could remember who- she books it out of there. But I'm not about to leave empty-handed. Like, if I get expelled, I better go out swinging."

I giggle. Next to me, Juliet's grinning, and even Giles seems interested. I may not be daring enough to do the things Shane does on a daily basis, but that doesn't mean I can't experience some of the thrill by listening to him relate some of his adventures.

"Anyways, so I finally find a half-empty bottle of Sky-" _Like, the clouds? In a bottle?_ "-in one of the bathroom cupboards, and I'm ready to run for it when I hear the front door opening. I can't get out. I'm stranded in this sketch-ass bathroom at two in the morning, and the literal grossest teacher in the entire school has me cornered."

"Did he find you in the bathroom?" I ask.

"Nope. Because I made a split-second decision. By the time he came snooping in there, I was already out the window."

"That's so smart," I gush. If I were in that situation, I can't even imagine what I would have done. I'm not so good at thinking on my feet. Or... deciding things in general. Part of me thinks I would have tried hiding in the shower- which is made entirely of glass. I guess it's a good thing I don't put myself in those types of situations.

"No, that's not smart," Giles scoffs. "He's on the top floor of the school. You're telling me you just jumped out?

"I didn't _jump_ ," he says. "I might do stupid shit, but I'm not an idiot when it comes to preserving my own life. There was this ledge there that was just wide enough for me to crouch on, and I was out of sight if he happened to look outside. So I just hung out up there until he went back in his room and fell asleep."

"That's so scary," I breathe. "I'm so glad you didn't fall off."

"Well, thanks Freya," he grins. "So am I. But I'm not finished. It wasn't the idea of falling that was the scariest part."

He pauses long enough to take in our wide eyes as we hang onto his every word. "The scariest part... was when he woke up as I was halfway to the door."

"No!"

"He did!" He laughs. "I near shit myself, I was so terrified. He sat straight up, and kind of blinked at me- he didn't have his glasses on, so he couldn't tell who it was- and I just sprinted for the door. I didn't turn around till after I hit the stairs. I think I heard him coming after me, but he never caught me."

"Oh my god," I gasp. "I've never done anything as scary as that."

"Yeah, what's the scariest thing you've ever done, Frey?" Monica asks. "You're just so adventurous."

"Nothing that cool." I'm pretty boring in comparison. The risks I take are typically more along the lines of trying a new shade of nail polish or cutting my hair slightly shorter. "Moving to boarding school was pretty scary, though! I had to leave all my friends and family at home."

Not that it was exactly my choice. My parents sent me here hoping the prestigious Haversmith Academy would make me smarter. Unfortunately, it apparently takes more than world-renowned academics to change the foolish mind of a dumb girl.

"Oh, lame," Shane hoots, and we laugh. "We all had to do that. Maybe I'll have to bring you with me next time we raid Callan."

"Only if you don't leave me in his bathroom," I say, giggling.

Yes, we're definitely coming around. I wasn't very sure what to expect at the beginning of the day. I was nervous around Giles and Shane, even Monica. Now, I could stay up here forever.

For the first time since we've arrived, I'm completely at peace.

* * *

 **Alaina Calline.**  
 **Portsmouth, New Hampshire.**

* * *

By the time Zara comes to pick us all up, like we're toddlers at some daycare, I'm completely drained. Talking doesn't typically exhaust me so much, but having to be careful about every personal answer, making sure my lies, intermixed with truth, match up, takes a certain level of tense focus. I'm allowed to have secrets, you know. Not to mention that Yuto hasn't let me say a thing without giving me shit about it, and then infringing on my personal space with a "friendly" hair tousle. Zara's arrival, as degrading as it seems, is gladly welcomed.

That being said, I'm not the type to isolate myself, regardless of what I feel like. Being the odd loner of the group is far worse than my annoyance at them giving me grief all the time. That I can take. Noticing I'm lagging behind the others following the trail back down the hill, I jog to catch up with Gerard at the front. Simone is still going on and on about some stupid shit she probably made up for attention. She's been gushing about it for the last ten minutes. _Does she ever stop?_

"And like, I swear, she was raised by wolves or something. She's so weird. I hope her parents love her because honestly sometimes she acts like she's never had love before and it's, like, really sad."

"Who is she talking about now?" I hiss to Gerard, although it appears like he has also distanced himself from her words from the way he's facing forward, seemingly aloof to the three behind him. This seems unlike him; typically Gerard is as friendly as anyone.

"Doesn't matter," is all he says.

My heart jumps as an immediate sense of fear washes over me. The only reason people say that is when the answer is going to hurt its recipient. I decide to just ask him; I might as well know. "Is it me?"

Gerard shakes his head. "No, of course not."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. And I'd tell you if it was." He seems sincere. But you can never be so sure of people's intentions. I narrow my eyes at him, skeptical, but he doesn't give in. _Of course it's not about you. If they were talking about you they wouldn't be so stupid as to do it where you can hear them._

"Fine. So if it's not me, who is it?"

"I said, it doesn't matter." Realizing his suddenly harsh tone, his brow relaxes. "Sorry. I just don't think it's worth talking down about people when you don't even know them, you know?"

"I guess," I say, just to appease him.

But that's a lie, too. That's just how this world works. There's no room to admire his thoughtfulness because it doesn't matter what he says, rumors are going to spread.

And I'm going to do my best to stay above them.

Lunch, back at camp, is disappointingly similar to yesterday's. It's tedious, annoying, and the food's not even that good. There's still fruit from yesterday, bordering on being overripe. The chicken tastes like it's been cooked too long, which beats the alternative of me puking out my guts all afternoon, but I still can't eat it. I finally have to push the plate away. "Eugh. This tastes like rubber…"

"Yeah, and you'd know all about having rubber in your mouth," Yuto says. Brandon puts his hand up for a high-five. "Walked _right_ into that one."

"You act like that was funny," says Trina.

"I don't get it," complains Eimer.

Brandon just gives her a quizzical look. "Really? _You_ don't get it?"

"Let's not go there," I say sweetly, keeping my shoulders back and chin up. _Boys._ Honestly _._ "Eimer, sweetie, it's a condom joke." _And not even a true one.  
_  
"Actually, I'd think you'd like the taste, Lain," Brandon says. "Probably used to having it for dinner every night, huh?"

"Please," I say, keeping my comments to myself. "You know Donovan. He's as pure as a lamb."

"Good ol' Donny," he says. "Once a mama's boy, always a mama's boy."

"Exactly," I say, shooting him a look. "You know, Simone, what were you saying earlier? Something about someone being raised by wolves...?" As she launches off on another tirade, effectively drawing the attentions of everyone else at the table, I successfully tune her out. Maybe Gerard's right. It really isn't worth it.

I keep my lips held in a steady line, though they attempt to twitch upwards. Not because anything's funny, in fact it's quite typically immature of them. But if the boys are going to tease me about anything, it may as well be the fake relationship I've developed in order to hide what's really going on in my dorm. Sure, Donovan's rich, polite, and seems like he cares, but we both know that he's what my parents want, not what I want. He doesn't make my heart skip in a way that's true and untainted by social expectations.

More specifically, he's no Sonya. As roommates Sonya and I have an excuse to be seen together, but not in any of the ways I can be seen with Donovan. So all our smoking and fooling around- everything that would shatter my reputation- happens behind closed doors. It's not out of embarrassment. I'd be disowned, I'd lose my status, and she has a girlfriend, too. So it's always going to be Donovan. I guess I could do worse.

As the others are finishing their average meals, I see Anabel come in and head straight to our table. She's still smiling about something. I swear she smiles more than Simone talks, but I still don't know what she thinks is so great about this shitty place.

I accidentally lock eyes with her as she comes around, prompting her to try to talk to me. "Alaina, how are you, dear?"

"Fine," I say, half-heartedly attempting not to sound as bitter as I want to.

"Well, wonderful." If she was expecting me to mirror her question, she doesn't act put-off by my unfriendliness. "You know, I was wondering if I could speak to one of you. Trina, would you come outside with me for a minute?"

Confused, Trina nonetheless stands and follows Anabel away. I watch as they disappear out the back doors of the dining hall.

Blake and Chanel speculate on what they might be talking about, but since no one has any logical ideas, they let the issue drop. The table conversation fills back in around her absence, but I'm distracted by a strange sense of envy. _Anabel picked her… not you._

 _She doesn't think you're worth it. Just like Mom._

It's a stupid thought, and I shake it away. Most likely Trina's in some kind of trouble, and who wants to talk to Anabel anyway? On top of her horrible whiny voice, Anabel's a kiss-up, sickly sweet to impress her superiors and make people do things for her. It's repulsive.

I don't have to prove anything to someone like that. As for my mother... I still have time to become someone great. I just have to survive the idiots on this trip first.

* * *

 **Monica Celsey.**  
 **Weston, New Hampshire.**

* * *

I'm just minding my own damn business, calmly chewing my dumb piece of chicken, when I realize I'm being stared at. I can ignore Madison for about five seconds before it becomes too awkward.

" _What?_ " I finally ask.

"You're eating chicken," Madison says. Despite her lazy tone it's evident she intends this as a question, but I'm feeling bored, so I let her spell it out for me.

"I _am_ eating chicken. Congratulations for noticing."

"Thanks," she says, unfazed. "I was actually wondering _why_ you were eating it. Aren't you, like..."

"Anorexic?"

"I was gearing more towards vegetarian."

"Good," I say. "You just got dangerously close to offending me."

Jackson chimes in. "I was actually wondering the same thing. We don't normally eat together, so I guess I always thought you would be. I mean, you're so..." A smile twitches across his lips. "You're just so pure and _earthy_."

"If that was an attempt to be shady, you failed. Believe me, Jason, the only shade you could throw is if you stood next to me on a sunny day." He cocks his head, then seems to decide to shake this off, too. Good. It's better than getting offended over what's meant to be a joke. "But anyways. Technically, I'm not a vegetarian, because I'm not going to starve myself if meat's the only thing available. I avoid it when I can, but let's be real, I'm not going to live just off this fruit." I push the remainder around my plate, breaking it down further into a gooey mess.

"That makes sense," Madison hums. "Do you limit yourself at all?"

"Veal. Lamb. And I try to stick with foods that are either compostable or come in recyclable packaging. Plastic wrappers clog everything and choke animals and I'm really doing my best to not do any harm to this world." I fold my napkin back up and turn it over in my hands, leaving them faced towards the ceiling, Buddha-style.

"That's very... noble of you," Jackson says. And I know he doesn't mean to come off as boastful and pompous, but he just can't help himself and I'm _so_ over it. Maybe that's why his next words strike a nerve. "Not very realistic, but it's nice you're trying."

There's a tinkling sound that rings through the cafeteria, high-pitched like the wind chimes outside my dorm window but rougher, less melodic. From the front of the room, Giselle draws the spoon from her glass, giving a shallow smile over our heads as voices drop off. Not mine, though. "It's nice I'm _trying_?" I hiss. "Listen. You and everyone else need to accept that this needs to be the new norm if we want to leave any remnants of a livable planet to those who come after us. If we don't clean our shit up, then we're all screwed, alright?"

"Whoa," he says, getting defensive. "I didn't mean to argue with you."

"So what _did_ you mean?" I'm not angry as much as annoyed with him, making everything he says twice as bad as he normally is. "Because to me it seems like you have your priorities somewhere else."

"Well, yeah," he admits in a low voice, after checking to be sure Giselle isn't watching us. Rule-follower, through and through. Not like she has enough brains to care. "But can't we just accept that we're different people and agree to disagree?"

"This is the future of the planet we're talking about, buddy. We can't just agree to disagree! Your freaking compulsive suit-ironing is singlehandedly destroying the atmosphere, so unless you want your future mansion's three swimming pools to be boiling over, I'd change your attitude."

Jackson flashes Giselle such a winning smile as her eyes pass over us that I almost might think he'd been listening to her the whole time. _Stupid kiss-up._ When she turns away, he takes a second to compose himself, then straightens his shoulders. "Right. My apologies for giving a damn about how I present myself. Tell me again how my wearing dirty shirts is going to seal the hole in the ozone layer, end world hunger, and cure cancer?"

 _Now he's just being childish_. Well, he asked for it. "I just think if you didn't iron everything every time you left your clothes all over Mrs. Langley's bedroom floor, you could be a lot more eco-friendly."

Jackson spits his drink, a reaction so loud and sudden that it draws the attention of most of the class. I wonder at their first impressions- me, sitting smugly back in my chair, while Jackson begins to pink like the STD he probably has. I'm almost tempted to fist-bump my whole table, but I resist. Some are smiling, trying to hold back giggles. I allow myself a proud smirk, just to let Jackson know that there are no hard feelings. Trouble is, as he protests, I'm not sure he gets the humor behind my words.

I can't help but wonder if I've gone too far... as I often seem to do.

He knows I'm not trying to hurt him, doesn't he?

Well, if he doesn't get it, that's not my problem. Besides, he could do a better job at keeping his feelings a secret.

People begin standing. I'm following them out of habit until I realize I have no clue where we're going. Luckily, Freya fills me in as I join the mindless shuffle towards the doors. "We're heading back to the lodge," she informs me. "And after that we're going to talk to our group leaders. And then I think they said something about poetry?"

I groan loudly. "We have all this outdoor space... and they stick us inside. What a genius plan to slowly kill us."

"Was that sarcastic?"

"Yes," I sigh. "Yes, it was."

* * *

 **Jeremiah Whittaker.**  
 **Calgary, Alberta.**

* * *

Since yesterday, the lodge has been transformed. We now sit with our groups, five to a table, with pens, pencils and papers splayed in front of us. While we wait for our names to be called so we can speak one-on-one with our leaders, we've been tasked with creating a poem to share tonight. For what reason, I'm not sure. The only reason I'm getting anywhere is because we've been given strict orders not to speak to one another. That doesn't mean we haven't tried. But every time Audrey has turned to me and rolled out a witty complaint, one of the many counselors prowling the room like a wolf has moved over to shush her. As far as I know, this isn't so much to punish us as it is to get us to focus.

But focusing, for someone like me, is futile. I can't keep my eyes from being drawn to the faces around the room, wondering at Trina's sly smile or Quincy's glower- what could they be thinking? Even when I do decide to try to write, ideas are sparse and come in jumbled clusters. All I've managed to come up with in more than twenty minutes of work are a few doodles and scribbled fragments, things like _eons of eighteens_ and _sharpened edges glinting green_ that should, theoretically, be tied together in some coherent way, but I just can't make it happen. Personally, I blame the prompt; there are far too many directions to take a poem about my future, of all things.

One of the pitfalls of being a creative thinker is that I'm hellbent on being original. I don't want to follow the same angles many of my classmates will likely take- namely, detailing the extravagant lives they no doubt will be leading five, ten years from now. Unfortunately, all I've managed to come up with for myself is a suffocating dread towards the future. The thought of being fully independent would be intriguing if all the responsibilities that came with it weren't so terrifying. I'm not ready for things like taxes and employment and mortgages. Part of me is still six years old and incapable of doing anything on my own. The other part is about eighty. And neither of them are any good at writing.

I'm distracted from doodling clouds around the borders of a few particularly atrocious couplets by Alex's arrival. Sliding into the empty chair at the other end of the table, he nods towards me. "You're up."

I don't want to talk to Sawyer. Seeing him in a group is bad enough, but having a face-to-face discussion with someone that creepy makes me nervous. But I give the others a small smile as I get to my feet. I'm sure I'll be fine- I've tolerated far crueler people than Sawyer Krebbs.

His cabin is a two-minute walk out of the lodge and across camp. As today has worn on, most of the morning dew has burned off in the heat that plasters my t-shirt to my back. Some of the giant puddle from Shane's antics also looks to have dried, but the majority remains, begging the question, _What are the consequences?_ The counselors have already snapped at the tiniest things we do, so what will happen to him for an act that actually affects us?

Sawyer has his door propped open, and even from outside I can perceive the musty scent permeating from his unkempt room. I try not to judge, but I'm a little grossed out by the mess he's made. Clothes and other garbage are stacked in the corner, along with... other things. I don't even want to think about the use for some of those toys... _eugh._

Sawyer, sitting in the middle of his bed, smirks at my expression, which probably appears as embarrassed and nervous as I feel. I've never been good at faking my feelings.

Ducking my head, I sit in the chair he's propped up in the center of the room. He doesn't say anything; when I look up, uncomfortable, he's simply staring, looking like he's trying to analyze me. Well, it doesn't take a mind-reader to see I want this over with as possible. And given I have no idea of what he could possibly want to talk about, my nerves are at an all-time high.

Finally, he relaxes back against the wall. "So. _Jeremiah_." He draws the word out, plays with it between his teeth, breathes it out like a hiss of smoke.

I swallow. "Yes, sir."

His smirk creeps higher at my statement. In his hands, he twists an open Manila envelope. From inside peep the tips of white documents. Despite having practically nothing to hide, my stomach twists at the thought of what could be on those papers.

"I know my grades are bad," I blurt out. "I'm only good at English and Art."

He only laughs. "I couldn't care less about your grades, boy."

"Then what's in the folder?"

"That's for me to know..." I wait for him to finish the statement, but he never does. "So, we have some things to talk about."

 _What could I possibly have done...?_ "We do?"

"You look like you're ready to snap. Relax, kid. I'm not going to hurt you." Heat floods into my face, and I shake out my shoulders, though my toes still tap habitually. "I wanted to ask about your family."

"My family?" _Oh, this isn't so bad._ "Well, it's just me and my parents. We've always lived in Calgary together, and they're both really smart-"

"Are you bitter at them for never paying you any attention?"

"I- what?" Confusion swirls through my mind. "They haven't-"

He rustles the folder, ever so slightly, but an idea makes my breath catch. What does he know about me? What's on those papers? "Don't waste my time lying to me," he says, and I know he means it.

Under pressure, my heart lurches in my throat. I don't know how he knows what he does, but more importantly, what _do_ I feel for my family? I don't detest my parents. I don't think that's fair to them. They've done everything they can to provide me with a good education, a spacious home, and everything I need to live. And yet... and yet. My mother is cruel in her best moments, selfish, like I never want to be. And my father seems to care when he's around. But when is he not rushing off to meetings in other countries? When was the last time we just sat and talked?

"I'm not bitter," I clarify. I don't want him making up ideas about me that are exaggerations of the truth. "I do wish they were less focused on their work and more focused on our family."

Sawyer jots that down on the outside of the folder. I pull my arms in tight to my sides, not knowing why he wants to know. "I'm sorry, is this going to be shared...?"

"No, no, of course not," he shakes me off. "Just a way for me to get to know you better. I've always believed that where one comes from can be more telling about them than the way they appear to act."

 _But I'm not faking anything_. "Well, then, I'm an open book. What else would you like to know?"

I get the feeling, though, that he already knows everything about me. More than I know about myself. But how? Why is he here? And what is this place, anyways?

The more I look at him, the more I allow his attitude to worm its way into my gut and unnerve me, the more I realize that I can't kid myself any longer. The tone beneath his words and his snake-like smile are too real to simply be facades. I just can't tell if it's him who's the problem... or if he might be hiding under something even greater.

* * *

 **Yuto Ebisu.**  
 **Naha, Okinawa Prefecture, Japan.**

* * *

"It's an absolute _pleasure_ to be here, Zara," I say, stepping into the cabin. Dropping to one knee, I make to kiss her hand, but she jerks it away. "Truly, an honor." _Fine_. I press my lips to my own hand instead, as if that was my intention from the start.

"Oh, enough. Why don't you take a seat, Mr. Ebisu."

"I'm just being polite," I say defensively, sliding into the chair. She faces me, lips pursed together, hair long and glossy. She'd almost be beautiful if she weren't trying so hard to look important and intimidating.

"You really aren't that scary," I tell her. "I don't know why everyone hates you so much."

"Meanwhile, it's painfully obvious why you're so disliked by all the counselors..."

Since meeting for the first time yesterday, Zara and I have continued a rather amusing banter. Despite trying to convince me that she despises me, I know a love-hate relationship when I see one. Deep down, she adores me.

"I'm pretty sure that's not how you pronounce _admired_... but what do I know?" I shrug. "Not like this is my first language."

"That would explain the accent."

"Precisely. You know, I can actually speak English, Russian, and Japanese," I say proudly. "Fluently. But I'm sure you can guess which I'm most comfortable with."

She cocks her head, wondering if I do, in fact, want her to guess. "Japanese?" she finally sighs.

"Wrong. Russian. You're really going to buy into stereotypes like that, huh? You, of all the people here. And you look more ethnic than 90% of this goddamn school. I bet you think I'm good at math, too."

Zara blinks a few times, seemingly trying to decide if she wants to respond to that or not.

"Fine. That was a joke. And I'm shit awful at math."

"You're full of jokes today, aren't you, Mr. Ebisu?"

"Please, please," I say. "Call me Yu. Unless that's too hard for you to pronounce."

"You'd do well to show some respect," she snaps.

"I'm just being real. I've always believed honesty is the best response in any situation," I counter. "And while we're on the topic, is that your real nose? It's crooked. I can recommend you to a specialist- I have excellent connections."

"So I've heard," she says bitterly. "Only those have more to do with drugs than plastic surgery."

Now I'm genuinely surprised. I use pretty frequently, but mostly in private, or with kids who I know won't rat me out, because I've made it clear that if they do, they'll see a world of pain. As far as any authorities know, aside from my hilarious antics, I'm unproblematic. Squeaky clean. A second passes as I stare at my hands; light sprinkles across them through the cracked window above me. But I won't be illuminated so easily. "Drugs? Who told you that?"

"I'm not authorized to share that information," she says, pursing her lips.

"Okay, first of all, this isn't a crime show," I say. "Second, I would never. My parents would never allow it. Besides, look at this sweet face!" I give her my best puppy eyes, an act I've perfected over the years. It's amazing how often adults will buy the cute-new-foreign-boy act.

Zara, characteristically, gives no reaction to my expression. "You deny it, then."

"Of course, I do. Like I would really put my grades or musical career at risk for a bit of fun."

"That's funny you say that," she says, raising an eyebrow. Shifting on her bed, Zara stretches towards a pile of papers that I'd been hoping wouldn't be touched. Mostly because I figured they'd be some assignment I'd have to fake my way through, like that stupid poem. She pulls a white page coated with dark fine print from the top. "It seems your grades are already at risk."

"Where'd you get that?" I lurch towards her, but she pulls it out of my reach. "What is that?"

"It doesn't matter, Yuto," she says, folding it up.

"Those are school documents. That's a breach of confidentiality. Do I have to go to the police? Like I said, I have connections."

"Please," she laughs, although there's no humor in it. "You couldn't put a finger on the people where I'm from."

Before she can push me away, I lash out at the stack of papers. They go flying, swirling down to the floor.

"You..." She doesn't know how to react at first. Then darkness passes over her face. "You little _shit_. Get out. _Out_ , Yuto!" she roars, pushing me back towards the door.

Instead, I stand my ground, just to piss her off. She lets go of me, hurriedly trying to arrange the papers back into a pile. But as I'm about to comment on the stupid and inefficient way she's collecting them- by pressing her body on top of them- it occurs to me that she seems to have another goal in mind. Almost as if she's trying to hide them from me.

"I said, out!" she shouts, now getting up to shove me away, but I fight against her.

"Seriously, lady! What's your problem? I'm just-" Then I see my name on another paper. But this one isn't my grade sheet.

I only have a few seconds to absorb the information before me, but as I do, time seems to slow. I skim my name. My hometown. My address. My parents' names, and their work addresses.

But it's mostly about me. My school photo, and a list I can't quite make out aside from a few words. _Rebellious. Temperamental. Tendency to bul-_

Zara shoves me harder, and I hit the floor, shoulder slamming into the doorframe. Pain shoots up my neck, and I'm shocked for a second until hot anger replaces the sting. I scramble to my feet. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Hands wrap around me from outside the door before I can swing at her. I thrash and throw elbows, but it's useless; these arms are much stronger than I am. I let out a groan, frustrated and furious, as a dull ache pulses from between my shoulder blades.

"Listen to her, boy," he grunts. "Go back to camp."

"And let her get away with what she just did to me?"

"Trust me. You'll only make it worse by staying here."

 _This doesn't make sense!_ "You- you can't just hit me like that!" I sputter, still shocked. "My parents- they'll hear about this. They'll sue. You cruel fuckers-"

The man twists me around to face him. I recognize his features, but I can't name him. He's been quiet, lurking around in the backs of our activities- one of the nobodies whose purpose here no one really knows. Towards me, his face is even, too even. His jaw twitches as he holds back whatever words he'd rather say to me.

" _Go_ ," is all he says. He utters this in a voice so deep, it's practically a growl.

He lets me go. And with him blocking the way back in, I'm left no choice but to accept that I'm powerless and head back to the lodge. "You'll pay for this..." I mutter.

This isn't fair. This isn't right. No one sensible would treat any of us this way. Much less, me. When I get home, the first thing I'm doing is ratting these abusers out. They deserve what's coming to them!

But as the pain fades, as I near the lodge again, I remember what I saw right before I was shoved so disrespectfully to the ground. My information. And I can't even imagine the extent of what was on there.

For the first time, I'm at a loss. They know me. Which means they know us all too well. _Why?_

* * *

 **Glitter in the Air by P!nk.**

* * *

 **You're not going to believe me when I say this, but there was actually a period of time when I thought I could get two chapters up before the beginning of June. Seriously, I had my author's notes done already (and they were all like _Look at me! Look how productive I am!_ ) But I guess I kinda shot myself in the foot on that. Shit happened, playoffs started, I had AP tests, then my school apparently fucked up half of those AP tests by putting us too close together while we were taking them so then I had to do Spanish and English _again_... and then I accidentally deleted Freya's completed POV. Which actually hurt a lot. But enough complaining.**

 **But yeah, I graduated last Thursday, and now summer's here. Until I get a job I'll be pretty much free to write. UCSB won't start until the last week of September, so that gives me plenty of time to get my shit together with this story.**

 **Review if you want. If you're reading. All three of you...**

 **Oh, and there's a poll on my profile, cause bitches love polls. Vote for your fave tributes. These won't impact anything, I just think polls are fun and I wanna see what people think. Do it. In addition to that, if you haven't already seen, there are links up for a couple other blogs I have going for this story. One of them is more aesthetic. The other one actually has a number of characters tagged in posts I thought represented them. It's kinda hard to explain, but you'll see.**

 **Till next time.**


	8. Schemes

_I know we're not everlasting; w_ _e're a trainwreck waiting to happen._

* * *

 **Gabrielle Harman**  
 **Stockton, California.**

* * *

The say distance makes everything smaller, and at least physically, they've got it right. From high above, the camp is shrunken, the buildings more compact and the people scaled to the size of tic-tacs. But as far as problems go, this uphill run hasn't solved much, other than making me tired and dizzy and pissed off. Really, I'd enjoy my brief sense of freedom more if I didn't feel like I was going to pass out.

I'm not big on trail running- physical, aggressive sports are more my speed, but I might have gotten more into cross country running if the school let us go beyond the school grounds and explore the hills. Much like this prison of a summer camp, they required absolute control, which meant keeping us inside the gates at all costs. But, like now, that never fully kept me down. Escaping just takes more effort than I'm always willing to give.

I slow to a walk, pressing my fingers into the shooting pains in my sides. Even at a hiker's pace, there's something relieving in the strain of my muscles against the path, a type of release in the strain of my calves and the burning of my throat. My dusty sneakers drag against the trail until eventually I come to a stop between two trees. From here, I'm invisible, obscured by the greenery surrounding me, but I can see everything at the foot of the hill. Most people are spending their free hour outside, some lying in the sun or tossing a ball around. It's wrong, really, to call it free time. Because we've never been more restrained.

I never thought I'd miss where I'm from. Broadly, Stockton is the greasiest shithole in the state. Crime rate through the roof. Bars on all the goddamn windows downtown. My parents have the money to afford a place in one of the city's few nice gated neighborhoods, but take a fifteen minute drive downtown and you're in a whole different world. I don't make a habit of it unless we're out of food and neither of my parents have remembered to go shopping, but I never go out past dark. That's so I can avoid the people who I can't just push around, who will push me right back or mug me for getting too aggressive.

It's the same way out here. Sure, my classmates know not to mess with me, but these bastard counselors don't back down. When I attacked Milo for that stupid file he kept reading off of, he hit me right back. I can't remember the last time I had to try to make anybody fear me- even for people who haven't heard about me, my expression says it all. Fear is a natural response.

My legs protest, but I turn and keep striding uphill, higher, higher. I may have stayed up half the night through a running argument with my hellish roommate- no way in hell was I giving her the satisfaction of surrendering by going to bed- but frustration fuels me better than sleep ever has. Frustration at Chanel, at Audrey for fucking sleeping through the night like some sort of pussy, at Shane for being a fucking selfish cunt, at Milo for trying to infuriate me with stuff about my family- oh, fuck. That powers another several steps before I finally have to stop, head swirling and piercing with pain. This time I bend, coughing, hands gripping at my aching knees so tightly that my knuckles blanch.

" _And your family, do you have any siblings?"_

I probably should have just stayed silent the whole time, but I didn't. " _Four of them. Three brothers and a sister."_

" _Are you close to them?"_

 _Not anymore_ , I wanted to say. But that question has a more complicated answer than I was willing to give. " _Sure. Closer to the young ones, mostly."_

" _What about your older siblings?"_

" _They're fine. Old enough not to live at home anymore. Just don't see them much."_

" _I'm not sure I'd describe being in prison as 'not living at home anymore'."_

" _I'm sorry, what th-"_

" _Do you miss him?"_

" _I'm not going to tell you that."_

" _Crime runs in families, you know. It's likely you could see him very soon."_

That's what really made me furious. Him having the nerve to bring up Jasper- no, not just bring him up, to compare us. How can you be so fucking shallow? So I was voted most likely to be arrested or some stupid shit. That's a yearbook superlative. That's based off the vote from eighty self-absorbed seniors based solely off their fear of me. He's literally been in prison as long as I've been at Haversmith. There's a difference!

I feel like retching, but I can't tell if that's from hunger or thirst, or from plain disgust.

I don't think I could ever climb high enough to escape that sting. Jasper was one of the only people I had, and the most important. When someone leaves you for fucking prison, that's not an abandonment you forget so soon. Nor is it an insult that I will ever be able to play off.

I throw a fist into the ground to rip up a tuft of grass, but suddenly it's like my fingers are too weak to snap even the thinnest blades.

 _When did everything spiral so far out of my control?_

My siblings used to be my best friends. The only good thing my parents ever did was allow us to bond by being consistently terrible and distant parents. Hell, Jasper and Lucas practically raised the rest of us. But it's Jasper who had the idiocy to go and get himself arrested, and get the rest of us shipped away to schools where our parents wouldn't have to keep an eye on us. It's his fault I'm alone. Maybe being friendless is my choice, but at least I used to have him.

Now it's just me, a handful of people I can tolerate, and a few who just want me to fight their battles for them. I have no real friends. Most people see me coming, and their smiles fade. Their conversations with their friends die on their tongues. They don't want to tempt me in case I decide to lash out. That's the effect I have, and the legacy I'm leaving here.

This was a mistake. I should head back down, and get caught up again in everyone else's mindless drama. Maybe that's the point of all that idle small talk I've never been good at, and that my parents exclusively use to communicate with me. It distracts you from what really needs to be said, keeping those problems distant and smaller than they really are.

"I'll never be like you, Jasp," I mutter. "Fuck what Milo says."

But I'm not sure I really believe myself. After my violent, tumultuous four years here, and where it's predicted my life is going, am I any more than juvenile?

* * *

 **Mariana Brinley.  
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.**

* * *

The dinner setup in the lodge is unremarkable. Gerard, Griffin, and I pile strips of greasy steak and dollops of sticky white rice onto paper plates, then plop down on the floor, since there are no chairs or any apparent area for us to sit. As groups fill in around us, we chatter about everything from books and theater to the food we take small bites of.

"Gerard, you have to read _Wuthering Heights_ , it's my absolute favorite," I gush. It's true. I often think of myself as Catherine Earnshaw, the story's admirable protagonist. Our only difference is that I'm still waiting for my Heathcliff.

"I've been meaning to," he says. "Ever since I saw your performance of it last year. You two were terrific as the leads."

"Well, we owe a lot to our supporting cast," Griffin says, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh, please," I scoff. "Nobody remembers anybody except who played Cathy and Heathcliff. Take the compliment, Griff. He's right! I watched the tapes back after the show, and I almost thought we were really in love, the way we kissed."

Inexplicably, his shoulders tense up. Perhaps he's still shy about the kissing; I recall him being nervous during rehearsals, too. He's no expert, but on stage, with weeks of practice, he was quite believable.

I'm starting to reassure him when I'm interrupted by a paper falling into my lap. Anabel and Milo pass sheets of paper around the room- the same type we wrote on earlier, in between meetings. I flip mine over, but the messy scrawl doesn't match my elaborate, sophisticated script.

"Milo, this isn't mine," I stop him.

"Sweetheart, if you're embarrassed-"

"I'm not embarrassed," I say. _My_ poem was excellent. Not that this one necessarily isn't, but I can't even try to make sense of the handwriting. Even deciphering the name at the top takes several seconds of squinting. "This is Jeremiah's." But Milo doesn't hear me as he passes a paper onto the next person.

I quickly realize I'm not the only person who didn't get their own. "Oh, who's this?" says Trina. " _Someday I won't have to be afraid. These fears and marks are ancient artifacts_ -"

"Give me that!" Griffin shouts, jumping up. "Don't read that!"

"Aww, no, but this is really touching," she says. "Of course you'd hope for a family that really loves you. That's so sweet."

He rips it out of her hands before she can say another word. "Christ, what is wrong with you? This is personal, this- this-" He's so furious that his words give out, and he gives up trying to make sense of his anger. I've never seen him so flushed and upset. When he stomps back to me, he leaves a tense silence hanging in his wake, and refuses to look at me.

I've seen him snap before, whether it be under the stress of an upcoming production or exams, but never at anything personal. I realize that, as long as we've known each other, when we discuss personal things, I'm usually the one taking the reins of the conversation. That's natural for me, but I wonder if I've smothered any chances for me to know him as well as he knows me.

Most people have the wrong paper, which I attribute to carelessness on Anabel's and Milo's parts, but Trina's stunt is the most dramatic as it gets. Jeremiah gives me a shy smile when I give him his page, then folds it into his pocket. Harper gives mine back without any indication of whether she read through it or not.

"Thank you, Miss Kellington, for starting us off," Anabel says, stepping up to the stage at the head of the room. "Although, going forward, I'd prefer it if you gave your friends the chance to read their own poems."

"We aren't honestly reading these," Gwen frowns.

"Actually, you are. Aloud. To everyone."

I'm enveloped by a cacophony of complaints and outcries. Anabel, overpowered as she is, doesn't back down. It'd be admirable if she weren't so obnoxious. "Listen, it's good for you guys to get to know each other better. Believe me, you're fighting it now, but I just know you'll be thanking me in a few hours. Who knows? Maybe you have more in common with the person sitting next to you than you ever thought."

Even to someone as open to sharing as me, it's a terrible idea. The only thing reading our poems out loud will do is welcome more torment from Trina or Quincy, or at least induce embarrassment for the more awkward ones. I'm no fool. I've seen the way rumors at this school start and how they never seem to die, and from both angles. Three days ago, while I was fixing my concealer in the school bathroom, I overheard two girls in the stalls behind me. They were still trying to make sense of the supposed news that I was pregnant. And that rumor was from two years ago.

"And who's going to make us do this?" Alex asks, crossing his arms.

"These will," Anabel deadpans, drawing a set of keys from her pocket. She tosses them to Milo, who slides them into the door handle.

After a beat, Harper finally says what everyone's too stunned to ask. "You're… locking us in here?"

"Oh, no no no, I'm not locking you in. No, I'm locking me out. I'll be right outside if you need anything, but don't worry, you'll have total privacy from us adults. We don't want to make it awkward, listening to your work."

"But you have the keys-"

"Alright, so if there are no more questions, I'll just leave you all to it!" Anabel seems all too eager to leave as she hardly gives us another look before leaving the room. Milo pulls the door shut behind them, and after the telling _click_ of the lock, the lodge is bathed in silence.

The quiet lasts for about two seconds before everyone starts arguing again. Everyone except Griffin, who's still simmering next to me. I'm not sure what to make of things, either. I never believed they'd actually stoop so low as to lock us up so that we'd communicate with each other.

Eventually, one loud voice calls out above the rest. "Hello! Hi! Yes, excuse me! People. Seriously, shut up for half a second."

Chanel has filled in where Anabel stood at the front of the room. But rather than read the paper in her hand, she quickly tears it to pieces, and throws the shreds to the ground.

"This is dumb as fuck," she says. "Seriously. If anyone has any better ideas, I'm all for it. But we are not doing this."

I've never liked her arrogant attitude, but she's right. Unfortunately, nobody has any better ideas beyond staying here and complaining, or tearing up their own papers. And as much as I'd like to join in, someone needs to be optimistic. Someone needs to think of something. And there has to be something.

I skim through my own paper again. I don't want to tear it up, though. There's something about shredding a piece of art that doesn't sit well with me, and it might be amateur, but this is a part of my soul, too. If I don't share it, then I should still keep it close to me.

I'm not sure how much time passes before Griffin, letting out a quiet groan, suddenly gives me an idea. Why not keep the others entertained with something we're good at? I pull the surprised boy to his feet. "Come on, I know what's going to make you feel better."

"I'm really not in the mood for anything, Mar," he complains. "Not now…"

"Griffin. Remember what I said about us as Cathy and Heathcliff?" He nods hesitantly. "The same rules apply here, trust me. Trina is irrelevant. And you're the lead. No one will remember what she said, but they will remember how you acted. So show them you're above her."

Pep-Talk Mariana is a relatively new persona for me, but she seems to be effective. Griffin raises his eyebrows. "That's not bad advice, actually."

"Did you expect it to be?"

"Well, no, I just-" He fumbles over his words. "So what are we doing, anyway?"

"You'll see," I grin. "Just trust me. Come on!" And I drag him up to the front of the room.

* * *

 **Gwen Chamberlain.  
Hyannis Port, Massachusetts / London, England.**

* * *

To anyone watching from across the room, Yuto might seem calm, mimicking my relaxed behavior with his head leaned comfortingly against my shoulder. But, close enough to hear, he is anything but laid-back.

Finally, I need to interrupt his ranting. Because, frankly, he's been on about the same rubbish for more than ten minutes, and it's starting to drive me mad. "Right, so, Zara's a bitch, but there's no way she shoved you 'cause of a few meaningless papers."

Hurt flickers over his face before he flushes with anger. "You think I just _lied_ to you about everything that I saw in there? About what they did to me?" His body clenches, fingers trembling. "I've talked to everyone. _Everyone._ Barely anyone believes me. And you of all people don't believe any of it, either?"

"'Course, I believe some of it," I say. "But, Yu, you like to exaggerate sometimes. And… it all just seems a bit ridiculous, don't it? Why would they have your information?"

"I don't know!" he shouts. "And I'll bet they had yours, too! But you don't even care!" He sits up, his pressure leaving the right side of my body. I instantly miss it. "You _need_ to believe me."

He can't fake fear, and there's something nervous and urgent in his expression. But he's the only one who's been freaking out about our meetings. I want to believe him… but, realistically… "I dunno, mate…"

A wave of laughter ripples through a corner of the room, followed by a pattering of claps. Griffin and Mariana's act, which appears to be some form of improvization, must have been at least a little entertaining. Not that I could be arsed to pay any attention to any of it.

"Fine. Take their side, then. But I'm not lying. And, honestly, I thought I could trust you most out of anyone here, but I guess I can't."

"That's crap," I say. "'Course you can trust me. Let's just let it go, right?"

But in the resulting quiet, the space between us suddenly feels miles longer than the several inches separating our shoulders. I'm _not_ defending Zara or any of the rest of them- I hate them as much as he does- but I just can't reckon why he'd react the way he is.

I know he's taking things far too seriously. That's one thing that's always divided us and usually sets us bickering, that I'm far calmer about the type of shit that makes him mad. Theoretically, it would balance us out. I just usually have to do my best to ignore it.

"I'm over this," Yuto suddenly says, climbing to his feet. "I need to clear my head…"

"Where are you going?"

He points to the dull-looking piano rotting in the far corner. "I need to play something. Since I'm apparently laughable anyways, I might as well take advantage of that." He makes his way up to the front.

"Did he say he's laughable?" Madison asks from across the gap where Yuto was just sitting. "Is he really that bad at playing?"

I chuckle. "Only if he's tryin' to be." _And he might, considering the way his night is going._

Before he plays, though, Yuto spends a good minute arguing to whoever'll listen that the counselors are pure evil. Then, once he exhausts himself, he calmly introduces his piece as "something by Lil Wayne that I've never been allowed to play at recitals," and begins.

There's something effortless in the way his hands dash along the keys, a type of poise I can only assume would take years of practice. He plays quick notes with ease and shifts from high trills to the deepest chords with a passion that must be fed, in part, by his lingering frustration. It's a flawless melody that transfixes me, and before long, most of the room is silent, focused intently on the booming notes resonating from the instrument.

That's when he begins to rap.

" _Yeah, I'm in the crib butt-naked bitch, Anabel said my dick could be the next black president…_ "

Hoots and hollers ring out around the room, but aside from his signature cocky smirk, Yuto doesn't react or shift his focus from the music. He continues to rap, substituting Anabel's or Zara's names wherever it will sound most dirty. I'm equal parts impressed, amused, and proud.

Madison, however, doesn't seem to find it so amusing as she absently views the scene.

"Not a fan of rap, Mads?" I ask.

Her eyes flit to mine. "Oh, no, I don't mind. I was just thinking…"

"'Bout what?"

She looks around, but Yuto still has most of the attention on himself, so she scoots over towards me. "Doesn't this all seem… weird, to you?" she says, in a much lower voice. "Locking us in. And Anabel is acting so stressed. It just seems off to me."

I suppose Anabel's behavior _is_ a little dodgy. This year, with all the drama in the administration, Anabel's always been scurrying around when I see her, running errands or filling odd jobs for Ms. March. Yet she's done it with a chirpy kind of grace; while lacking in many areas she's certainly always been cheerful. "Probably just worried about how much she's going to miss us," I joke. "And now she just wants to keep us here so she doesn't have to deal with next year's senior class."

" _Zara get off me, Zara get off me, I got her over here blowing me like coffee…"_

"Yeah, um…" Her brow furrows. "I'm… not so sure that's the reason."

"Well, then, what's got her so stressed?"

She pauses, seemingly questioning if she should even respond. It briefly crosses my mind that there's something more… something only she would know. "Mads, what's happening?"

"You can't tell, okay?"

"Swear I won't."

She looks around again, but nobody pays much attention to us. "There is no other senior class," she finally says, her voice hushed.

"Pardon?"

"Haversmith is closing. For good. It's not just a rumor anymore."

I frown. "How d'you know it's true?"

"Chanel found out," she says. "And let it slip to me. But I haven't told anyone. I don't want it getting around… everything's already so complicated, and I just thought it'd be easier if admin told everyone at once. So promise you won't say anything."

"'Course," I say. Her reasoning makes sense to me. "But can you really trust… her?"

She smiles wryly. "For this… I do. Wasn't it inevitable, after everything?"

" _If you fake, put a egg in your shoe and scramble;_ _no rubber, I just fucked this piano..."_

As I turn back to watch Yuto conclude his piece with a dramatic glissando, I briefly lock eyes with the girl in front of me. Simone looks away immediately, drumming her fingers on her knee. Not to the beat of the music, but more as an antsy habit. I narrow my eyes. _What did she hear?_

But before I can confront her, I realize a more pressing question. Clapping and more hollering from around us muffles my next words to Madison. "Mads, you know our meetings earlier? With our leaders?"

"Sure," she says. "Milo was acting like a pervert the entire time, though, so I couldn't really focus on much besides that."

 _Wanker._ "Well… did you see what was on those papers?"

"I saw my picture on one," she says. "Not my best. I just figured they were there so the counselors could get to know us more easily, since they've barely met us. Why?"

So she's the same as me. Unbothered. Nonchalant. Good. "I was just wondering. I didn't think it was much to worry about, either."

That puts my mind more at ease, back to where I was before Yuto tried to stress me out. And with that, I relax against the wall. _Only one more night to go._

I probably should have remembered Simone.

* * *

 **Brandon Prescott.  
San Francisco, California.**

* * *

I've been aching to have a private moment to see Eimer all night, but with everyone staying together in the lodge, it just hasn't been possible. Maybe my jumpiness and the way I've been flashing her looks all night aren't my most subtle cues, but I'm too anxious to try to hide it any longer.

When we're finally excused to head back to our cabins, I don't have time to worry about what Anabel's saying or whether or not she even cares about us not reading those stupid poems. I barely catch Eimer by the elbow as she's leaving, and pull her aside.

"Can we talk?"

"I-" She looks towards the others streaming from the building, and swallows, nodding. "Sure. But-"

"This way." I guide her around the back of the lodge and stop her near one of the cabins. It doesn't appear to be occupied, and here, we're hidden on one side by a row of bushes, without being confined. It's a suitable place for being able to hear each other without being easily seen.

Her arm is stiff and her eyes dart from me to the darkened, distant figures of students disappearing towards their rooms. For some reason, the bright smile I flash her doesn't set her at ease.

"So, Eimer…"

She drops her gaze again. _Coy, as always._

"Look, I know you miss me," I say. "It's painfully obvious. So why don't we just skip all the explaining and go straight to the part where we hook up? Saves us time, don't you think?"

"Explaining… what?"

 _Jesus, do I have to spell everything out for her?_ "You know, why we haven't really caught up all year?" _Even though I've made sure we had plenty of opportunities to._ "But it doesn't matter, okay? I forgive you. It's behind us. But we should really get going before-"

"I don't feel right about this," Eimer says. "I just…"

"What's wrong?"

She looks around again, but there's no one here but us. She takes a long time to speak, probably trying to remember how to form sentences. I tend to have that effect on people. Although, she might just be that dumb.

"I don't really feel like I know you, Brandon."

"Of course, you know me," I say.

"I used to know you better, though." She shifts awkwardly between her feet. "I- I don't know how to say this- but last year, remember, we sat together in French II?" I do remember. Girl sounded sexy as fuck mispronouncing _réfléchir_. "We talked all the time. We don't do that anymore."

 _Because my ideal relationship involves as little talking as possible. Unless it's dirty talking._ "That's not my fault," I say, which is partly true. "You should have made more of an effort."

"I didn't want to force it…" She looks down. "This used to feel more natural. But lately… it's not. I feel… like you're trying to use me."

" _Use_ you?" For such a shallow person, she sounds so serious. I don't know where all these thoughts came from, but God, they're annoying. "Eimer, come on, babe," I say, trying to make her look at me. Eventually I give up and just talk at her chest. "I didn't mean that. You know I wouldn't do that. Look..." I pull her aside, up closer to the cabin's wall. "I understand where you're coming from. Believe me."

"You do?" She cocks her head at that, but still won't look up. "How?"

"I mean..." _Shit, think!_ "Well, we both have these... reputations that precede us everywhere we go. I'm the man-whore, you're the slut- Hey!" I grab her shoulder as she starts to pull away. "People say that and then think they can categorize and stereotype us, but really they're just names. I know that you're better than that."

"Prove it..."

Oh, shit. It's actually painful for me to try to come up with something that I've seen her do well. She has a point- we don't really know each other outside of school, which she's really not any good at. Not that I'm anywhere close to Dane or Seraphina in terms of grades, either, but Eimer's practically an ostrich- she's got eyes bigger than her brain.

We did have Geometry together, once. Remedial, of course. "You... were better at proofs than anybody in our corner of the room! Remember?"

"That's... not what I-"

"And you're so cool that you even let me cheat off you even though that one time we both got forty percent, but that was fine because we were both failing the class anyway. No one knows about that, do they? Or the fact that you're amazing at- at golf..."

"Tennis..." she says quietly.

"That's what I said."

"I thought-"

"And me!" I continue. I'm on fire now. "Well, shit, I'm pretty much just like you. I'm the hottest person in the school." _And second. Wes is third_. "And people get jealous about that, so they make us out to be these- these simple-minded people who only want sex and attention and pretty things. But, we're not just that, right?"

I lean closer. Under the night's cover everything is faded- the outlines of her features in the dark are fuzzy, but I can hear her soft breathing and make out the shape of her lips inches away from me. Her arm is tense under my fingertips as I lean forward.

She twists her neck at the last minute, and my lips press roughly to her cheek instead. "Don't..."

"Please, E." My hand slides down her arm to grip her wrist. "Next week, we're going to be leaving. And I can't imagine never seeing you again."

"I-"

"Trust me." I wrap my fingers around hers. "I like you. Truly. And I want to show you."

For a moment, there's sweet silence between us. The air is still. Anticipatory. I wait for her nod, her mouth to relax, any signal she's given in. She keeps her eyes down, but I can tell she's entertaining the thought by the subtle twitch of her brow.

My second hand drops down her back. She shudders, but doesn't pull away. Good. I'm bored of waiting. I place my lips an inch from her ear and guide her around the corner. "Come on..."

"Hey! Get a room, sluts!"

Wes...

"Him? You're kidding."

And Alaina.

 _Just my damn luck._

Now Eimer pulls against me- subtly, so neither of the others see, but my fingers release her. In a second, her resolve has gone. "I'm... really tired," she sighs. "I'm sorry. This isn't the right time."

"And what are you guys still doing here?" I call towards the others, trying to keep my frustration under taps. _Why can't I have a fucking moment of peace with this girl?_

Alaina eyes us both smugly as she and Wes approach. "Oh, Wessy here wanted to test his chops on the piano in there. Turns out, he's absolute shit."

"You mean, _the_ shit. You just don't know genius when you see it," he says. "Sorry, did we break something up? Should we leave you two here to do whatever it is you two animals do to each other at this point?"

"Oh, shut it," Alaina says. "We're just heading back. See you two bright and early tomorrow. Come _on_ , Wes."

"No, I'll come with you," says Eimer, meeting them as they pass us. "I should go to bed soon anyway." As an afterthought, she looks back. "Night, Brandon."

I answer with silence. Now, she has the guts to look up. Her face is clouded with regret, but not enough to change her mind. It never is. Eventually, she turns around and catches up to Alaina and Wes.

I was _this_ close to finally having her again. And then _they_ had to come and break it up. "Fuck!" I spit into the dirt.

I'm Brandon fucking Prescott. I can get any girl I like… except her.

Eimer dictates my entire day and she doesn't even know it. That gleam in her eye, that fabulous accent... that ass... I hate it. I hate her because I can't break her enough to...

 _Wait a minute._

I dip the toe of my shoe into the ground, digging out a chunk of dirt. If I consider the list of boys the girl has slept with- and I'm probably missing a few, since the immediate list is shorter than I thought- I far exceed the qualifications that tie all of them together. Funny. Charismatic. Confident. And I've sadly never seen Dustin's dick before but if it's anything like the rest of him, then I've got that covered too. The only reason she doesn't want me is because I come- ha, ha- off as being too easy. In her eyes, she can have me whenever she wants.

I've apparently forgotten that what really makes girls fight to get me is a sense of competition. And I know exactly who can make her jealous.

I have to give Rosalie credit where it's due- she told me secrets I could have never imagined about a certain blonde homecoming queen. I don't know where she learned them, but I don't care. Because now I know the dirtiest parts of Alaina Calline's life and all the things that she'd do anything to cover up. Fortunately for me, she's a snob for her reputation. Which means, I can make her do anything in order to keep me from sharing.

And she just so happens to be Eimer's closest friend at camp.

I twist my foot, and the dirt goes flying.

* * *

 **Gerard Colson.  
Springfield, Massachusetts.**

* * *

My thoughts feel heavy with exhaustion and my eyes ache, but I can't sleep, not yet. Not until I've scoured our room for another book, something that will feed my curiosity and eventually lull me into sleep.

I stoop in front of the shelf, browsing my options. I could use my usual respite from today's stresses, but unfortunately, there isn't much fantasy here. Slipped between the worn, bent titles of centuries-old stories are a handful of modern science fiction novels, and my gaze freezes on one in particular: _The Hunger Games._ Despite its rampant popularity, I could never fully get behind the series; even overlooking the scarily ironic comparisons to today's tyranny and capitalism, I couldn't get past the sickness of families being torn from each other, of children being forced to murder each other for sport, for fun. I can typically handle books with disturbing themes, but not this one. I think I'll try something different

I settle- and I say this in the simplest sense of the word, because I'm excited all the same- for a few of the classics. I pull _Huckleberry Finn_ 's bruised cover and a dog-eared copy of _Wuthering Heights_ \- Mariana recommended it for me earlier- from their places on the shelf. Then I throw myself down on my own bed, finally back where I feel most comfortable.

Several uninterrupted, engrossing chapters later, Brandon jerks me out of my literature-induced coma. "Hey, do I… smell bad?"

"Um…" I sniff the air as he stands next to me, scanning the back of the book. "Yeah. But everyone does. You can't really tell."

"Then maybe it's my breath. You know, I've never gone this long without brushing my teeth before. It gives me a broader perspective on life… I guess I finally know what it's like to feel ugly, like you guys."

My mouth turns up at that, but Blake, for whatever reason, sobers. His face falls.

"Okay, I was kidding," Brandon says. "...Kind of."

"Blake, you alright?" I ask.

"I..." He tries to take a deep breath, but his voice shakes. "I was supposed to watch out for Shane this morning, make sure he wasn't caught while he was- well, I didn't really know what he was going to do until it was already done. But I didn't. I overslept. And then he got caught."

"You couldn't do anything about that, man," says Brandon, pulling his t-shirt over his head. "Even if he'd somehow managed not to be seen next to that giant fucking geyser, who else would be stupid enough to do that? Oh, god," he digresses, grabbing his mouth. "This is so disgusting. My beautiful teeth…"

"You don't need water to brush," I remind him. "Just spit outside. Go on, Blake."

"I could have- I would have told him to stop, given him time to get out- I failed him."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up," I say. "I like your loyalty, but it's probably better that you don't garner punishment for this one."

"He'll blame me," he says. "And if he doesn't, then I still know it's my fault. For being a fucking coward." Blake sucks in a long breath, almost like a hiss. "That's not like me. I don't know why. I just-"

He heaves a sigh and thuds back against the bunk.

"Blake, talk to me," I say.

"It doesn't matter," he mutters. "I'm sorry. I'm just so tired. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"You sure?"

"It's fine. Good night." He rolls over.

The cabin is oddly silent for a beat, until Brandon, mouth overflowing with toothpaste, tries to ask something that I assume has to do with the foam garbling his words.

"Spit outside," I chuckle, though it doesn't feel as free as it might have five minutes ago. "Out the window."

I get into bed, mind swirling. I had envisioned a quiet night reading by the window like last night, but my thoughts are darting all over the place. I don't know why Blake has been so anxious, or Brandon so comparatively quiet since earlier. Finally, I close _Huck Finn_ , mentally noting the page number- I'd never purposely damage a book by folding corners. Maybe it's the unusual dialect or the fact that I already know where Huck will end up by the end of the chapter, but I can't focus like usual. Instead I flip to the first page of _Wuthering Heights_ , trying to distract myself with new material before sleep.

The sound is so faint, I first assume it's just the squeak as I shift on the old mattress. When I hear it again, though, I can tell it's from outside, somewhere close to my window. I can't fully distinguish it, but it sounds like a cry. From what animal, I'm not sure.

I pull open the window to look outside, and the book flaps open on the floor. The camp is still. The water, half-illuminated, is unmoving, the trees hanging limply, defeated. Even the shadows are stationary. There's no breeze, and no sense of whether or not I'm hearing things.

A little uneasy, I twist the glass shut again and reach down for _Wuthering Heights_. It's landed far ahead in the book, and as much as I know I shouldn't look (for fear of spoilers, of course), I can't help but reflexively scan the page.

 _"...may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you- haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always- take any form..."_

 _The murdered do haunt their murderers..._

Above the dense pages of Emily Brontë's only novel, my gaze flits to the sleeping faces across the room. Brandon's face is neutral, seemingly unbothered, but even in sleep, Blake seems... torn, with his brow furrowed and his forehead creased. His mouth is dipped into a frozen frown.

 _You're not one to be paranoid. So quit it._

Then what is it that feels so _wrong_ about this place?

I press the book shut and turn over towards the wall, trying to quell my thudding pulse. There's nothing more to hear but the boys' even sighs as they sleep. Soon, my breathing mellows, and exhaustion takes over. My eyelids slide shut.

If I were a lighter sleeper, I might have heard the next cry from outside my window minutes later- one that is undeniably human. But my unconsciousness deafens me, and instead, I sleep soundly through the night.

* * *

 **A World Alone by Lorde.**

 **IANAHB by Lil Wayne (go listen to the first 1:30ish of this song, I beg you. The piano is insane...).**

* * *

 **I kind of ignored a big feature of Gwen's form the first time around, namely, her British slang. Trying to research slang kind of took ages, and I'm not even sure it's right, so feedback on that would be cool. I probably embarrassed myself, but ayy, what's new?**

 **Also, this is important. I recognize that there's a lot of imbalance in what characters are and aren't mentioned or around every chapter. My thoughts going in were that, naturally, there would be the louder, more prevalent personalities, and there would be a few who, socially, fade into the background. But I do intend to balance out appearances more going forward. I'm not intentionally ignoring your kids; everyone has something planned, trust me.**

 **Big things going forward. I'm so excited to draw this first arc to a close in the upcoming chapters. And then the Games be comin'... oooo. Not gonna get too ahead of myself, though. Baby steps. We got three more chapters before we get there.**

 **Hope everyone's having a lit summer and that you're happy, cause I am. Now if only I could get these chapters coming on time...**


	9. Fools

_Everything is shattering and it's my mistake._

* * *

 **Shane Curran.**  
 **Toledo, Ohio.**

* * *

The side of my face pulses as I drift into consciousness. A shaded room swims into view as an immense pressure weighs on my right eye, and as I shift among my sheets, pain shoots up my arm. It takes all of two seconds for the soreness to fully hit me, and when it does, I feel like I've been decked by a truck.

 _What the fuck?  
_  
Griffin, still sleepy, coughs from the other bed. It takes a few moments for me to realize where I am. _My cabin... but why does it feel like I was somewhere else?  
_  
It feels like there's an elastic band stretching inside my skull. Even with my eyes squinted, the thin light shooting in from the single window is scalding, a golden laser. Every inch of me wants to stay still and remain in bed.

"Fuck, Shane..."

"What...?" I slur, my mouth pinching with the effort. I'm aware of a subtly tangy taste in my mouth.

"Christ, just look at yourself."

I sit up slowly, inadvertently making my head swim and vision turn filmy. But it's not until I see my reflection in the mirror hanging across from my bed that anything comes back to me.

The right side of my face is swollen, purple.

 _Fists collided here... and here..._

The area under my left eye is quickly blackening, too.

And, to be honest, it's the most like myself I've felt in days. Cuts and bruises are my normal decorations.

Still, something about these doesn't sit right with me. _Why did this happen? How did I get here?_

"What happened to you last night?" Quincy's eyes are narrowed, clearly suspicious.

"I don't… remember," I say, grunting at the pain in my side as I push myself back to lean against the sturdiness of the bunk's headboard. I could really use a sip of water to wash the taste from my mouth. But whose fault is it that I can't go wash myself up at the sinks?

"How do you not remember?"

"I don't know. If I did, I'd fucking say it, alright?" That's when I take another look at him and see his expression in a new light. "Oh, you bastard-"

"I didn't do it," he says, defensive. "I'm not that much of a pussy to beat you while you're defenseless."

"Yes, you are. That's what you do. You love to have everyone fear you, when you just beat on the weak ones for intimidation!"

"Well, not this time." He gives me a look full of loathing before turning around and rooting through the closet for a change of clothes. "But you should really figure out who would."

I know I've made enemies over the last few days, but it's hard to come up with an idea of who would do this. And, of course, there's still the confusion of how my memory could be so fuzzy. My only hypothesis is that I was beaten so hard I blacked out.

I gingerly shift myself sideways to let my feet hang over the side of the bed. Even that motion makes my sides ache, and I wonder at the bruises that must cover my chest, my arms, everywhere that cries out. The best thing I can do right now is show up at breakfast and try to spot bruises on anyone I know. I'm tough, and I can't have gone down without getting a few knocks in first.

Except when I do enter the dining hall, and eyes drift to me, and whispers are shared behind cupped hands, there's not a face that looks like mine. Ignoring the predictable reactions and questions of "what did he do?", I serve myself burnt eggs and lopsided pancakes and sit down at an empty table, keeping my head down.

It doesn't take long for curious people to approach me. They're just not who I'd expect.

"Shane," says Monica in a serious tone, dropping down next to me. "What the hell did you do last night?"

"Are you okay?" Juliet doesn't sit, but stands rigidly on the other side of the table, anxiously twisting her hands together.

"Don't worry about it," I mumble, digging into my eggs. "Let me eat."

They don't. "We're worried about you," Monica says. "We just want to hear what happened…"

"And I'm sure you think you can solve the problem yourself, don't you?" I laugh humorlessly. "Just stop. We're not friends. Just people forced to be together."

Monica sighs, and out of the periphery of my eye that isn't swollen, I see her motion someone over.

Giles grumbles, clearly inconvenienced, as he comes around to sit himself down across from me. I don't look up, keeping my eyes on my plate, on these disgusting eggs. I didn't think it was possible for food to be both runny and burnt, but the incompetent cooks here have proven me wrong. Leave it to this shoddy summer camp to fuck up the world's most basic breakfast item.

"Look in the corner," Giles eventually says.

"Don't tr- what?"

"Look up," Giles tells me. I do. He motions his head towards the opposite end of the room. Empty bins, likely for bussing our plates, are set up on tables against the far wall.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Not the wall. The table in front of it."

I look. And after a few seconds, I do see. Of the seven adults sitting together, conversing quietly with their heads pressed close together, I catch glimpses of a bald, olive-skinned man. He's the same one who gave me a nice, friendly talking-to yesterday morning- and, to be clear, that's sarcastic- but he wouldn't be noteworthy now if it weren't for the reddish-pink mark blossoming on the side of his jaw.

"What's going on?" Freya says, coming up behind me. "Are we having another meeting?"

"Okay, that could be from anything," Juliet says to the rest of us as Monica fills Freya in, although her tone betrays her doubts.

"Don't be fucking ignorant," Giles says. "They're pure evil. Who else would have done it? Quincy?"

"Quincy didn't do it," I say.

Juliet sounds hurt, but she doesn't make it a point to get back at Giles. "Shane, do you think it was Arron?"

"Who's Arron?" Giles asks.

She inclines her head towards the other table. I never felt any need to know any of their names, but apparently Juliet has been paying attention.

They turn to me expectantly, but try as I might, I can't form a clear picture of my attackers in my mind. Which probably speaks more to the degree of injury they caused than my carelessness.

"No," I tell them. "I can't remember what anyone looked like."

But as I force my brain to remember last night, bits and pieces, fragments of images and feelings do come back to me. I remember hands pulling at me after I went outside late at night, planning to relieve myself in the bushes… I remember my mouth and eyes being covered, so I couldn't cry out… and then there was a hand in my mouth, fingers curled and holding something, and I bit down on someone's grubby fingers.

After that, it's a blackout. But that's my issue. Not for me to worry them with.

"I need to eat, alright? So can you give me space for a few minutes?"

"You don't want to worry about this?"

"Believe me," I say, still watching the far table. The mark on the man's bronzed cheek stretches with every hushed word he says. "I'm worrying about it. I just need to think in peace."

* * *

 **Chanel Agresti.**  
 **Scarsdale, New York.**

* * *

The tension at this table is palpable.

Blake hasn't spoken all meal. He barely touches the apple in front of him, the only thing he took back from the buffet to eat.

Simone won't smile, but keeps looking back and forth from face to face, dying for us to ask her what's bothering her. No one cares to ask, but she's stressing us out.

Eimer just looks exhausted.

Normally when I'm this stressed out, I react in one of two ways. Since there's no volleyball court in the nearest eight hundred miles (give or take), I shovel my breakfast into my mouth like it's the last food I'll ever get.

No one really cares that my chewing is the loudest noise at this table.

There's no real reason for me to be this uncomfortable, but I'm feeding off the negative energy around me, and I generally don't do well with tiredness, either. Barely having slept the last few nights really fucks with my nervous system. How can I sleep when Gabrielle snaps at anything I do? But even when she eventually quiets down, I stay awake, staring into the dark. Thinking about lots of things, much of them having to do with what happened a few nights ago, back at school, when Georgia and I last talked.

It's not really my problem, the deal with the money. Tuition being raised isn't something that affects my family; it's a drop in the bucket for my father and mother, respectively a plastic surgeon and renowned architect. But Georgie and I were roommates for two years, and I can't pretend that it doesn't bother me that her family's suffering for the carelessness of a school that's supposed to have its students' best interests at heart.

I'm torn. I know I should tell someone, hopefully spark some outrage that leads to some consequences for those with power and justice for those who lost everything. Yet it's also my secret. And I like having power over the people in this room, even if they're unaware of it.

Unfortunately, I'm not the only one who knows the truth… or at the very least, a part of it.

"Okay, Simone, what?" Trina finally gives in to Simone's hyperactivity.

Not unlike a deflating basketball, Simone lets out a string of words in a rush of air, so fast that no one can understand her.

"What?"

Simone takes short breaths, eyes wide. "The school is closing next year."

It's clear she expects a big reaction. Unfortunately, she doesn't get it. No one else seems to be listening. Blake has his head down on the table. Brandon won't keep his eyes off Alaina. And, of course, I already knew her news. Trina, across the table, can't even hear her over the clatter of dishes from behind her.

"Sims, hon, you have to speak up-"

"Haversmith is getting shut down!" she squeaks, exasperated. Her voice carries, and I quickly look around. Luckily, everyone at the other tables is too self-absorbed to notice.

"How the hell do you know that?" says Trina, skeptical.

"Madison was telling Gwen last night..." Simone says, hushing her words for dramatic effect. "And you know she _knows_ things..."

"I don't believe you," Trina says. "You're probably just saying it for attention."

"I swear, this is real!" she says. "I one hundred percent heard it."

"Uh-huh. Just like you've 'one hundred percent' heard everything you've ever tried to tell me. You never make any of it up for attention." She rolls her eyes. "Honestly, why are you always such an attention whore?"

"Fuck off, Trina," I say. Which I partly regret. There's no good reason to defend Simone, other than the fact that by jumping in, I can get one step ahead on the gossip. "She's right. I overheard Anabel talking to Francine the other day about things. There's... a lot of shit is going down, alright, with the school and funds, and it's way too complicated to get into, but the school is bankrupt and it's closing after this year."

Trina's mouth curls up, but after a few moments she realizes I'm telling the truth. "Okay, but so what? We're not going to be around to care anyways."

" _We_ might not," I say, annoyed, "but some of us have siblings. My sister's going to be a junior, which is already the shittiest year of high school with standardized tests and such-" _I would know…_ "and having to switch schools on top of that is just going to complicate things so much more."

She only smirks. "I don't think Gianna's going to have much trouble fitting in…"

"What makes you say that?"

"You know what she's like these days, don't you?" I guess my blank expression proves that I don't. "Well, if you're dying to know, Gi's become very… how do I put this… whorish."

"What gives you the right to say that?" I spit.

"The fact that it's true."

"According to who?" I tear pieces off my napkin, shredding it with my nails. "I'm her fucking sister. You just think you know her because you have one class with her- and, by the way, that says something about both of you, that she's in a math class that's ahead of her grade while you're in one a year behind."

Trina doesn't let up. "Then I guess we're both slackers, since I haven't seen her in class in over a week. She claims it's to get her knee looked at, but from what I've heard, she's working more on the PT staff down there than they're working on her."

"Guys, stop…" Eimer groans, but I'm not letting this end here.

"You'd better fucking take that back, bitch," I say, muscles tense with fury. I'm all but on my feet, balanced on the very edge of my chair, and I wring the napkin in my hands, not caring when it eventually rips in half. "Or I will end you."

"Don't get mad at me," Trina says calmly, but her eyes are slightly wider. "I'm just relaying what I heard. Simone, are you with me on this?"

Simone perks up. "About Gianna being a slut? Oh, yeah, for sure."

"Simone!" I turn on her. "Why the hell did I just defend you?"

"I can't do anything about what I heard!"

"Unbelievable," I say, shaking my head. "Go to hell, both of you."

I can't stay here. I get to my feet, furiously throwing my shredded napkin down and grabbing my plate.

"What, are you going there, too?" Trina says.

"Bitch, I'm already there." I leave them behind me. _Fucking bitches._

My original plan was to relocate to a table with less… shitty people, but another idea occurs to me as I slowly cross around the tables, trying to let my anger evaporate.

I grab the last roll off my plate before dumping the rest into the dirty bins, then approach the adults' table.

"Morning, all," I say.

Their conversation cuts off immediately. Anabel flips her frown upside down and flashes me a warm smile, but the rest aren't as welcoming. Baptiste, the only other one I know, looks away quickly and gives the woman opposite him an irritated look. But I stand my ground.

"Nice to see you, Chanel," the blonde smiles. "We're still eating, though, so if you wouldn't mind waiting a few minutes before we leave-"

"Actually, I would mind," I decide. "Anabel, I just need a minute with you."

The rest of her sentence dies on her tongue. Momentarily uncertain, she glances around at the other faces at the table before placing her crumpled napkin on the table and standing. I briefly wonder if she had cause to twist it, like I did, but I let the idea drop.

I lead her towards the door to make sure we aren't overheard.

"Are you doing okay, sweetie?" she asks as we walk, clearly trying to distract me from whatever she thinks I'm about to ask. _And enough with the fucking pet names!_ "Any trouble with your roommates or group?"

 _Roommates, for sure_. "No. But I am having trouble working my mind around why the school's closing and no one's made a point to tell anyone yet."

If she's alarmed, she does a convincing job hiding it in her expression. Still, there's a subtle but telling waver in her voice that proves that what I thought I heard two days ago was correct. "It's a little more complicated than simply breaking the news, dear…"

"But is it?" I step closer to her. Up close, she shrinks under my six-foot-plus frame, and I realize just how little she is. "Prove it."

I look her dead in the eyes, knowing I have the upper hand in this showdown. "You either tell everyone the truth about the school… or I will."

* * *

 **Simone Collins.**  
 **Los Angeles, California.**

* * *

I'm restless. My mind is buzzing… with rumors, observations, new news and old news. Knowing about Haversmith, knowing about Gianna, just _excites_ me.

But I need to know more. I'm not satisfied. I know that everyone around here has secrets and I'm desperate to find them out.

The top offenders… hm. I look around the room, and my eyes land first on Audrey Spenser. Her head's down on the table. When I've seen her over the last few days, she's been dead silent, or trailed closely by Alex. Trust me, I know there's history there, but I'm more suspicious of her because you just _know_ the quiet ones are hiding shit.

Then there's Harper, who… I don't know, just seems sketchy. Maybe it's because she also rarely talks, never wants to be with the rest of us. At night, in our cabin, I've tried to bait her by feeding Trina lies about her. But Harper doesn't care enough to argue. She just turns over and puts her pillow around her head.

There's Shane… nah. He's an idiot and if I had to guess, he probably just tripped in the dark or ran into a pole. He's boring, anyways.

But _Griffin_. What's his deal? He looks fine this morning, but why was he so moody last night? Trina can be… difficult… but compared to what she's capable of, she hardly did anything to him by reading part of his poem. Yet he snapped and acted like she'd completely ruined him.

I can't stand it. I can't focus on anything else. And the worst part is, I'm the only one who cares. _Doesn't anyone have their priorities straight?_

It's almost a blessing when the meal ends, and our leaders order us outside and to line up with our groups. I fill in behind Eimer in the dusty area in front of the building. Although it's barely nine in the morning, it's already clear that it's going to be a sweltering, humid day.

 _As if my hair weren't already bad enough…_

Once everyone's together, the announcement comes that we have another session of outdoor skills this morning. "Groups will, again, be paired together. Milo's and Giselle's groups, you're first. Grab your backpacks and follow your leaders out."

Maybe the early heat is already weighing on everyone else, because there's little conversation as I watch the first group of ten pick their bags from a bin. Notably, as Dane lifts his large backpack up over his back, Doran tries to… maybe make a joke, or something, but all Dane does is ignore him and follow closely behind Gabrielle. _Drama!_

I love it. If only they were in my group… I could get the deets...

But my alternative isn't bad, either. We're matched up with Sawyer's group, consisting of Madison, Alex, Jackson, Audrey, and Jeremiah.

I step forward to pick up my pack. Although it's large, it's strangely light. I try to unzip the top to see what it holds, but Zara slaps my hand away. "Not until we're at the top."

 _At the top?_ I crane my neck to view the side of the mountain we're on. The peak is way higher. Climbing will take ages, especially because these shoes give me absolutely no arch support or traction. Also, blisters. _My poor toes..._

"We'll be taking a trail as high as we can go," Zara explains as we start to walk. "There, we'll be fully immersed in nature, and Sawyer and I will be able to teach you more about the surrounding forest, as well as some critical survival skills to help you navigate the area." She sounds like she's reading directly from a script, and even has the monotone to match.

She's not even excited to be hiking. Luckily, I am. But only because of the people in this group. Immediately, as camp quickly disappears behind us, I catch up to Audrey.

"Hi. I need to talk to you," I say. Realizing I've bumped a boy out of the way, I turn to him. "Sorry, but you don't mind, right?"

Audrey squints at me. "Have we ever talked?"

"Oh, sure, all the time. Listen…" Alex tries to butt in, but I push him away. "The school is closing. And no one wants us to know about it…"

"Should I care...?" she says.

 _Why does nobody even give a fuck that I know the biggest secret in this entire fucking place?_ "Yes! You should! Because..."

"Simone, leave us alone," Alex says bluntly. "We were talking..."

"We weren't," Audrey corrects, "but you still should leave us alone."

That makes me pause. "Whoa, I smell tension… what's going on here?"

"Like I'd ever tell you," Audrey scoffs.

"She just won't admit that she's the one who ruined our relationship," Alex says, his jaw set.

She gives him an exasperated look. "That's not what happened! I-" She groans. "It's- it's complicated. No. But- whatever. Leave us alone, Simone."

She's flustered. _Something's up._ "So did you ever love him, or do you just like messing with his head?" I ask innocently.

It's not really a qualified question, but it produces its desired effect. She freezes. He waits. Any response is deadly. And I wait restlessly for it, trying to look only mildly interested when I'm dancing around inside. _Tell me!_

"It's none of your business," she finally says. "This is our issue. Stay out of it."

"You can't admit it," Alex says angrily. "Why don't you ever just give an honest answer?"

And they continue to bicker, eventually forgetting about me standing right next to them.

But I'm satisfied. So I leave them alone to argue among themselves and hang back to let Alaina and Eimer and the others catch up to me.

 _Oh, they are going to love what I have to say._

* * *

 **Blake Chapman.**  
 **New York City, New York.**

* * *

We reach a place to stop in a little over an hour. My legs, firm from years of dedication to my role as quarterback, feel loose and strong. It's my head that's swimming... heavy with exhaustion, confusion, and probable dehydration.

It's not a feeling I'm used to, being as healthy as I normally am, and I definitely don't like it. Something about this place has drained me- drained my usual easy-going personality and replaced it with someone who feels so cautious and unsure for the first time in his life.

There's only one way I can think of how to help it. As we sit to listen to the first lesson, I make sure I'm next to Shane, so I can finally get the chance to talk to him. "Shane…"

He turns to look at me. Up close, the bruising around his eyes is even more pronounced and grotesque. As an athlete, of course I've seen injuries far worse, like bruising from a sprain that stretched from the heel of my right foot to halfway up my calf. But my own injuries have never hurt as bad as the ones that are done to others, caused by my mistakes. Handing the ball off to Axel, my running back, only for him to be clobbered by another player and sprain his neck. Throwing downfield to Jeremy, only a sophomore on varsity, to have his leg broken in our Homecoming game.

And, to me, there's no doubt that Shane's injuries were caused by my mistakes… by my lack of responsibility to follow up on a promise.

"I fucked up, dude," I say, exhaling.

He doesn't say anything at first. I suspect I'm going to get the biggest chewing-out of my life. Except that's not what happens.

"What did you even do?" he asks.

I stutter for a second, caught off guard. "You- you- you asked me to have your back, yeah? I was supposed to be your lookout the other day." It's odd to have to explain it, since I was all but positive that he's been spending the last day secretly simmering in hatred for me.

"I don't remember that."

My stomach drops. This seems unfathomable, that while I've been worrying so much, he doesn't even... remember? "It was right before we played Capture the Flag. You stopped me at one of the buildings." His face doesn't register any hint of recollection. "Look, I know you wanted to get out of here, so I agreed to help you with your plan. Even though you said we weren't friends or anything..."

I trail off. He's looking back towards the trees below, but I don't suspect he's really admiring the view. His eyes have a glazed-over sort of look that suggests he's deep in thought.

I'm vaguely aware of the lesson going on around us. Milo is saying something about rocks and shelter being used as a deterrent against bad weather conditions... and yet it sounds as if both Shane and I are underwater, and this discussion is happening in fresh air. Being with Shane now, everything on the outside looks and sounds wavy and distorted.

Shane's still thinking, twisting a stone between his thumb and index finger. Dust rubs over his fingertips, but Shane isn't paying attention to what's happening on such a minuscule scale.

Finally, he flicks the stone away.

"Okay, you're right," he says. "I probably did ask you to help. But believe me, I didn't mean to make you feel responsible. This was my choice."

"But I could have-"

Milo cuts me off. "Would you two please pay attention?" Even from the very back, there's no missing the anger flashing in his eyes. Heads turn to face us, and I can't stop heat from rising to my cheeks. "Believe me when I say that you should be finding this lesson of life-or-death importance."

I mumble an apology, and he returns to the lesson, but dread remains in the pit of my stomach.

If this were Haversmith, I'd be laughing this off. Sure, I can get distracted sometimes, but I'm a dedicated student. I have fun, and I get my work done, but I really don't feel anywhere close to laughing this one off.

Why did everything become so serious? This isn't what a retreat should be. I suppose most of it can be traced back to the negative presence of the adults here, but the rest of it is my own damn fault.

There's no relief in letting my conversation with Shane die. There's too much that remains unsaid. On one of the empty pages of my journal, I neatly print the rest of my response. _But I could have protected you._

I tap his arm and point at what I've written. He narrows his eyes and takes the pencil and book, writing his own answer in a much messier hand. _I don't need protection. I can handle the consequences for myself._

When I look at him again, I can't see past the bruising. I can't see past the fact that I'm responsible. As a quarterback for all four years of my high school career, and as captain for the last two, it's simply in my nature to look out for those around me.

Which begs the question- how did I ever let him go alone?

He seems to know what I'm thinking. He arches over the book with a much more slanted posture than I've been using. A minute later, he returns it.

 _You would have turned out like me. Don't think you could have done anything but get us both hurt. Stop acting guilty._

Maybe he can flip a switch and decide when to care. I can't. So I nod and let the conversation drop... but deep down, I still feel responsible.

* * *

 **Audrey Spenser.**  
 **Las Vegas, Nevada.**

* * *

After a long lecture that I inevitably just snooze through, we're split into partners to practice forming shelters, using the materials from our packs. Thankfully, I'm paired with Jeremiah.

He and I agree to move away from the other groups, to a spot around the side of the hill. Maybe he's thinking strategically, but I'm just trying to separate myself from Simone and Alex and the rest of the crazies in our two groups. Their level of drama is really not my speed.

We pick a good spot and set our bags down in the grass, rooting through them to see what we have. Each of us has an irregular combination of thin, folded tarps, bags of string ties, pegs, coiled ropes, and some other materials that I don't have a clue what to do with. There's also a thin, plastic water bottle that's been wedged into the bottom of the pack, but it's bone dry, and the day's only getting hotter. _Couldn't they have taken three seconds to fill it up?_

"So I was thinking, we could start over by those rocks…" Jeremiah starts, organizing the goods from his bag into piles, but he trails off as he sees me staring blankly at the tarps in front of me. "What's wrong?"

The idea of actively building something right now is way too exhausting to even consider. I just shake my head. "Nothing. I'm just…" I yawn. "So tired…"

He chuckles. "I'm completely with you. Hopefully after tomorrow we should be able to go back and get some rest. I never thought I'd miss our crowded dorms, but I've really had some perspective out here… I think I'm ready to have my real bed back."

"Amen to that." I haven't had a good night's sleep all trip, thanks to my psycho roommates. Don't Gabrielle and Chanel ever give their petty problems a rest?

"Well, I guess the sooner we get this done, the sooner we get to be back," he says. "So we can definitely use this stack as one of our walls…"

He keeps talking, thinking out loud and trying to determine the best way to construct our shelter. He's so serious and passionate, but I eventually have to raise a hand to stop him because he's completely lost me.

"What?" he says, then realizes that I'm entirely clueless. "Oh. Sorry."

"Don't be," I say, as he blushes. "I just… Did you really just pay attention to all of that?"

"Maybe…"

"But what's the point?"

He half-smiles, still a little embarrassed. "I don't think it hurts to know some of this, you know, in case I ever want to go camping or something. I mean, why not?"

"Good on you," I say. "But my camping career begins- and ends- here. Once I get out of this school, I swear, I'm never coming back to New Hampshire."

"Mm," he agrees. We leave it at that, focusing on the manual project at hand. And by that, I mean I let him do eighty percent of the work, while I hold things for him. It works out well for both of us.

We're both sweating buckets by the time we're done. The structure, admittedly, doesn't look like much. "This looks completely terrible," Jeremiah sighs. "We should really start over…"

"Can I try it out first?" I ask.

"I guess," he says. "You want to see if it's stable enough, and protects against the wind? That's more important than looks, I guess-"

"No, I just want to take a nap."

He finds that pretty funny. "Okay, go right ahead. But give me your thoughts when you wake up, alright?"

I crawl under the tarp. It's stuffy as hell in here, but my face is shaded, and it's the most quiet I've had in days. I'm out in minutes.

I don't sleep long at all. When I come to, the first thing I see is Sawyer, lifting the tarp to let sunlight stream in.

I cover my eyes with the back of my hand. "Get out, you perv," I say, my voice slurred with grogginess. "Girls don't like it when you watch them sleep."

He makes me get out for that and tears the tarp down, but I swear that comment was worth it.

Returning to the rest of the group is less funny. Sawyer praises several of the other groups, eventually deciding that Jackson and Madison's shelter was most structurally sound. Well, of course Jackson won. Also, since when was this a competition? If I'd known that- well, actually, I wouldn't have done anything differently. Actually trying to care takes _so_ much energy.

"And as a prize…" Sawyer opens his pack and pulls out an unopened plastic water bottle. Beckoning the pair forward, he splits the bottle's contents between their water bottles, leaving a small amount for him to gulp down.

The rest of us wait, but he zips his bag back up. "Off we go."

"We're thirsty, too," says Alaina, a hand on her hip.

"Well, you should have been paying better attention when Zara told you to use something heavy to keep the tarp down."

She scoffs. "Whatever. Sorry. Now, give us some water."

He turns around, narrowing his eyes at her. "Just wait until we get back to camp for your drink, alright?"

"It's noon!" Alex says. "It feels like a hundred fucking degrees and we're all parched!"

"I can't help you, boy," he says. "Even if I wanted to. That's my last drop."

Jeremiah and I look at each other. It seems too ridiculous for him to be serious, but he is. I'm suddenly aware of how thirsty I am, and looking back down the road we came up, I feel nearly hopeless with exhaustion. We'll have to walk for another hour, at least, with no breaks for hydration.

Zara has already left. As I watch, she tips her own water bottle back and drinks some of the water in an irritatingly arrogant way. She looks to have no intention of turning around.

For the first time, I can truly understand that these people aren't just annoying. They're downright neglectful.

But Sawyer has his mind set on leaving, and no one has the energy to fight back. I sure don't. So there's nothing left to do but follow him, dreading the horrible hike before us. And dreading the rest of the day to come, knowing somehow that it's only going to go downhill from here.

* * *

 **FOOLS by Troye Sivan.**

* * *

 **Hi again!**

 **I'm pretty proud that I got this out as quickly as I did. I was driving back from orientation and just ended getting a ton done on the six-hour drive home. Also, finally getting into the good stuff in this story makes writing less of a chore, hence, I got this done in a reasonable time frame.**

 **But, yeah. I was at orientation last weekend, which was beyond exhausting- so many people to meet, and so little time- but I'm really looking forward to school starting next month. Also, my schedule fucking rocks. I have Mondays and Wednesdays free and all my classes end by 3 every day. And one of my roommates wants to learn to surf and play volleyball all the time when we don't have class, so I'm getting pretty excited. I mean, I'm also terrified of college, but there's so much to do before I get there that I can't really worry too much right now.**

 **I can't remember what I normally put in these things. Something about me updating faster or something. I don't know, I'll keep this one relatively short for now. Unless I think of something to add, in which case, I'll edit it in later or something.**

 **Let me know what you thought! See you next time :))**


	10. Loveless

_It's time to let go of this endless summer afternoon._

* * *

 **Alexander Grim.**  
 **Los Angeles, California.**

* * *

I didn't think I'd get this bad. But physically, mentally, emotionally... I'm drained.

Three days. That's all I had to get through. Without... without anything to help me out. They took my cigarettes, my meds, everything. Stripped me down to the bone and forced me to confront the darker side of myself, and what I see makes me sick.

I'm just another kid who's not good enough. Believe it or not, there was a time when I was supposed to be successful. I was an A-student all through middle and the beginning of high school, and a half-decent ball player too. If my grades didn't get me into college, baseball would.

But circumstances change, ambition flames out, and I guess some people just aren't destined for success, anyway. Now I fail at everything I try. I'm a shit brother and a shit son. No good at school. No good at love.

It doesn't help that Audrey always makes everything so confusing. Ever since prom, she's been avoiding me and has made it impossible to talk. Even within our small group she's distant and unreachable, distracted by who knows what.

Having her so close and yet so far is infuriating. I blame her wholly for the way we turned out… and yet I can't hate her. Not entirely. Not when there's still a flame flickering between us.

Fucking hell. I really am pathetic.

I've had no appetite all week, and today is no different. Gwen, Yuto, and Shane, on the other hand, have no problem stacking sandwiches and digging in as soon as we reach our table. I try sipping a glass of iced tea, but it's flavorless and lukewarm. I end up leaving it half-empty in front of me while I dissociate, letting outside conversations wash over me and swallow me whole.

A few minutes of tense silence pass before Yuto stirs me out of my slumber. "What's wrong with you, Grim?"

"Huh?" I shake my head, coming back to the present. "Nothing. Tired, you know?"

"You look a bit ill," Gwen points out.

 _Maybe I am._ "Yeah. I'm going to go get some air. Feels too stuffy." I'm on my feet in an instant, leaving my tray and drink behind and all but running out the door.

Once I'm outside, though, I realize I have no idea where to go. Back to my cabin, maybe, although it's warmer in there than anywhere else on the site. Still, I'll have a somewhat comfortable bed to stay in. Maybe laying down will help me clear my mind, anyways.

Too late, I realize someone else had the same idea.

Stretching her arms over her head as she comes out of her room, mouth wide and eyes squeezed shut in a comfortable yawn, Audrey doesn't see me for the first few seconds I lay eyes on her. In that time, I see her the way I first saw her. As someone beautiful and ethereal, who's never cared much for others' opinions and for that, sometimes seems to be godly and unattainable.

But that quickly gives way to a hurricane of frustration and fury and unforgivingness. She wasn't the girl I thought she was when I asked her to prom. She turned out colder and a cheater. My body clenches with anger at the memory of how hopeless and loveless she made me feel.

When she finally notices me, she stops short.

"Alex," she says, uncomfortable. Her hair spirals around her head in a messy ponytail. Apparently she forgot to take it down after her nap.

I'm no longer in any mood to appreciate it. "Better hurry if you want to eat."

I make to move past her, but she stops me.

"Move," I growl, but she stands her ground.

"Maybe we… should talk," she says.

I laugh dryly. "Now you're interested? Where- where was this a few hours ago?"

"It was more than just _us_ a few hours ago, Alex," she says. "There were too many ears around. If you want privacy, I think this is the best chance you're going to get."

She's serious. And I begin to realize… maybe I can't put off this conversation forever. As much as I want to. Because if I'm going to suffer regardless, maybe it's best to know the truth. That's the only way I can move on.

We sit in the grass, sky pressing down on us. And for the first time, I give her a chance to talk. I listen.

But what I hear doesn't do anything but freeze the blood in my veins.

Her version of the story becomes a swirl of details. Missed phone calls, screaming arguments, expectations, miscommunications, her upstairs with another boy. His arms around her. Her tears on his dress shirt.

They talked. And that was all. He heard her out, consoled her, then let her rest for the night.

No sex. No lies.

"Nothing happened between me and him," she finally sighs. "I never meant to betray you or even leave you. It's just… everything was too complicated that night to deal with prom. I had to get some space."

She never cheated. She never meant to hurt me. So why don't I feel any semblance of relief? Why, suddenly, do we feel even more wrong?

"You're okay, right? I know things probably seemed way different than they were. I… I can see where you might have had the wrong idea."

 _Because if I hadn't overreacted, we might still be together. This mess is my fault._

Embarrassment isn't the only thing I feel. Rage, unbridled rage, suddenly. At her, at myself, at everyone else I've ever met. Violent thoughts consume all feeling for a few terrifying seconds.

 _I did this._ I _did this._

"No…" I breathe.

"Alex?"

"I need to go," I say, hurried. And for the second time in the last half-hour, I'm on my feet before I can think and running from my own pain. Down the slope. Past the dining hall. Around the side of the lake. Pine needles prick at my legs, tossed in the air with my racing footsteps. But unlike before, the truth of the matter catches up to me. I can't outrun my demons.

My legs buckle, and finally out of sight, I collapse against a tree, chest heaving and gasping for air. Sweat plasters my curls to my forehead and the back of my neck and my t-shirt hangs heavy with moisture.

It hangs limp from my thin form, drooping as if it is as defeated as I am.

She didn't do anything wrong. Which means _I_ fucked everything up. Like I always fucking do. And unlike prom night, there are no glass bottles or drugs to take my mind off the fact that I am, and always will be, a disappointment. Just empty water bottles and pine needles.

I don't know what I would do if it weren't for Sawyer Krebbs finding me. I guess I must have been louder than I thought.

"You look like you could use some help," he says.

"Is it so obvious?"

He chuckles. "Come with me. I've been meaning to have a talk with you, anyways…"

* * *

 **Dane Hanson.**  
 **Springville, Utah.**

* * *

Doran's never been good at taking hints. He thinks it's cute to put his hands all over me, and when I swat him away, he just thinks it's funny. Maybe to him, everything's a joke, but no one's in any mood for his humor, me least of all. He's just being immature.

I manage him for most of lunch by simply ignoring him, as I've been attempting to do all morning. I simply drown him out in Jackson's usual rambling.

But after lunch, it's immediately back to our groups. We trudge together towards one of the empty cabins under a clouded, overcast sky. Heat weighs down on our backs and perspiration clings to my skin, though the walk is only a few minutes long.

The room is stuffier than the first day. It feels downright confining.

Blake tries to open a window, but it won't budge. Gabrielle offers to put her fist through it, but all that's achieved is a bruised knuckle and a whole lot of swearing.

"Your questions are on this sheet," Milo drawls, letting a single colored sheet of paper drift to the floor in the middle of our circle. "I'll be back to collect you in awhile. There's some… setup required for tonight."

No one argues against him leaving, but the awkward silence he creates remains long after the door clicks shut.

Just to test my theory, I try opening the door. It's locked. As expected. But that doesn't mean I'm not nervous about why we're locked into nearly every room we enter.

Mariana is the first to speak.

"So about these questions…"

"Oh, shut up already," Gabrielle says. "No one wants to do the stupid questions."

"I do," says Doran, grinning childishly. I shoot him a look and his smile falls.

"Just quit it, alright?"

"Quit what?" His smile has fallen from his face, his brow now pinched with worry.

He may be oblivious, but it's no longer cute. "Just- quit it with your attitude. Not everyone is so happy-go-lucky all the time."

"Why shouldn't I be in a good mood?"

This _idiot…_ "Haven't you been paying _any_ attention this week?" At the blank look on his face, I sigh, trying and failing to hide my frustration. "Right. Basically, we're all getting screwed over by our horrible counselors, in case you couldn't tell. No one's sleeping. The food has become shit. And you keep skipping around acting like this is all fine and dandy."

"I didn't really…" He frowns. "I mean, I knew some people were upset, but I didn't think everyone was so stressed out."

"So you thought it was just me? Great." Maybe it's irrational for me to take out all my irritation on him, but it's too hard to take back my words now. "Blame me for it. Sure. Makes sense."

"Seriously, quit it. Both of you." Gabrielle breaks in, not an ounce of forgiveness in her voice. "I'm seriously about to strangle you both. I didn't sign up for your shit."

"Really? Like I did?" I laugh wryly. "None of us signed up for anything. No one _wants_ this."

"Well, _obviously_ , nobody wants to be stuck in a room full of bickering idiots."

We glare at each other, neither of us backing down. Suddenly Blake butts in.

"What _is_ the point?"

I'd all but forgotten he was here. "What?"

"I mean…" He sighs heavily, looking glum. "Clearly this hasn't gone well. For anyone. So I wonder… what was the point of this trip? Imagine it had gone entirely according to plan. What should have been the outcome?"

"To make us bond," I say automatically. "They told us on day one."

"But is it really?" he says. "That's what they said, but it doesn't feel that way at all. It seems like for all the effort Milo and the others put towards forcing us together, they try just as hard to pit us against each other."

"Oh, that's so not true-"

"Seriously, think about it." Suddenly Blake has an entirely new spirit about him. "If they really wanted us to like each other, they wouldn't be so abrasive. They're cultivating animosity. And the poems, the questions, did they really think any of us would really do them? If you were one of them, would you expect us to?"

"There's still time, guys," Mariana says grumpily. "The page is right here…"

Blake has a point. Couple the number of burnouts in our class with how judgmental nearly every single Haversmith kid is, it's a wonder we've accomplished anything at all. And lately this place has begun to feel more and more like a powder keg… one spark and we might just burst.

"But… there's groups who say they feel closer," Doran tries to argue. "What about that? Didn't that mean they succeeded?"

"Please," I say. "They're telling themselves that to cover up the fact that they're opening up to people who don't give a shit about them. It's about justification. It comes down to either pretending it's alright, or realizing that you're just embarrassing yourself." I try not to look straight at Mariana when I say that.

"Embarrassing yourself…" Blake suddenly sits up. "That could be our answer right there."

"What?"

"Clearly, the counselors are unfit to lead. They're abusive and neglectful. And honestly? I don't think they're here because they want to help us learn. They treat this like a game. They think it's amusing. And so here's what I think. I think they want to make us vulnerable, and then get entertainment out of our interactions."

"That's way too complicated," I say, waving him off. "They obviously were selected for a reason. They may be toying with us, but there has to be a better reason to have us here."

"But even that's strange," he says, frowning. "That we're supposed to learn about each other days before we leave to never see each other again."

Maybe it is. But that's the least of my worries. As far as I'm concerned, they've put us here to make us sick of each other. That way, goodbyes won't be so hard.

For me, these goodbyes can't come soon enough.

"That's great and all, but about these questions…"

"Enough. They're not happening."

Both Doran and Mariana look upset, but they have to understand that those questions are pointless. There's no reason to answer them.

Especially when there are so many more interesting ideas to think about. The more I think about it, the more I can't help but wonder. Why _are_ we here?

* * *

 **Seraphina Corvo.**  
 **Oakland, California.**

* * *

This arguing is unbearable.

I shrink back in my seat, trying to be as small as possible. Luckily, I'm used to being invisible to everyone else in the room.

Wesley, Quincy, and Chanel are all but screaming over each other, and it's no secret why. Not only are the questions more personal and almost accusing - **Has anyone ever done anything to you that was unforgivable? Are you proud of who you've become? Do you let others control your life or are you in command?** \- but these wouldn't have caused anyone to boil over if it weren't for their competitive personalities and complicated histories.

Wesley and Chanel have been fighting since about this time last year. And Quincy seems to have this need to dominate the conversation and be the most powerful man in the room. I know it takes a lot to bother Gwen, and even she appears annoyed. But I guess when I'm stuck in this habit of reading others, that's all I have to go off of - appearances and impressions.

My parents realized at a young age that I was an observant girl and could make judgments that, far more often than not, were accurate. So they toted me along to their extravagant dinner parties, claiming to keep an eye on me when really, I was keeping an eye on the businessmen in the room, deciding to what extent they could be trusted.

Here, it's not much of my business to be inside everyone's heads all the time. Yet it distracts me from the negativity of mine. So I forgive myself.

Gwen's shaking her head at Chanel and Wes as they raise their voices. Clearly she just wants space... but then I realize she hasn't said a word about Quincy, who's been the loudest and most boisterous. It's not just the noise, then. It's the topic of conversation.

"And you're so controlling! All the time! It's like-"

"You always make everything about you! Nobody gives a fuck about your stupid scholarship or whatever pointless award-"

"Pointless? Pointless?! You have no idea-"

This goes on for several more minutes until finally, it's me who can't take it. Before I can even think, I'm shouting over them. "Just shut _up_! Shut up! There's way more important stuff to worry about than... than..."

My resolve has left me as quickly as it came. Embarrassed, I sink back into my seat as all eyes rest on me. _Stupid... where did that come from?  
_  
"Holy shit," someone whispers.

I don't know what to say. I never snap like that. In the silence, the buzz of the overhead lights is suffocating. Mentally, I keep kicking myself. _Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut?_

"Seraphina…" Gwen says gently.

I shake my head. "Sorry. I didn't mean to… to say anything. Just keep going. I'm sorry."

"No, she has a point," she says, facing the others. "There's been way too much bickering. I don't think she's had the chance to answer a single question. Did you want to answer?"

 _Oh, no._ That's not what I wanted at all. I didn't want to talk so much as just hear something new out of Chanel, Wes, and Quincy. Listening to them was awful, but talking to them? Impossible.

"Why don't you start again with the first one," she offers, reaching for the list.

"I'm not really sure that's a good idea."

"Come on," Chanel says. "We've been rude. We totally owe it to you to let you talk." She smiles warmly at me, but I can tell there's something snakelike in it. She doesn't want to be kind as much as she wants people to think she is.

I don't want to answer- truly, I don't- but now the pressure's on me, with everyone expecting me to. So, hesitant, I nod. "What… what was the question…?"

"It's... hmm," Gwen frowns. "Has anyone ever done anything to you that was unforgivable... it's a bit of a weird one, you don't have to answer it-"

"No, it's fine," I say, as a realization hits me. I shouted out because I've never been heard. And that's half the answer to her question, too.

Wes and Quincy are still practically growling at each other, but Gwen is listening intently. Something in her expression relaxes me. I know she genuinely wants to hear me, and that makes it easier to speak up.

"I guess... my parents," I say. "I know, I know, no one here really is close with theirs..."

I trail off. Gwen, though, doesn't lose interest. "Your parents. I can understand that. What- if you don't mind me asking..."

"Go for it," I say, waving a hand.

"What did they do?"

Confronted with the question itself, that nasty part of my brain starts to see my parents in a new light. As my protectors. As my caregivers. They only wanted me to be safe and protected. It feels wrong that I should... berate them, for that...

But it was never right. After I came to Haversmith, life was never the same. And I haven't ever been happy here. Even in the thrill of winning a tennis match or performing a violin piece in front of hundreds of people or titrating my solution to the most perfect, faintest pink in a chemistry lab, there's always been a limit to that brief euphoria. Almost as if that happiness I've always wanted to burst out of me is trapped or bottled up. Something blocks me from really being free.

"They're very, um, controlling," I say, aware of my voice trembling and being absolutely unable to control it. _Just say it._ "When they sent me here sophomore year, it wasn't just about a good education, it was about control... making sure I had no distractions that would prevent me from studying and playing my best."

I go on. It seems like a blur, everything I'm saying, because suddenly it all starts to tumble out. "Even friends. They never let me have... friends." My chest shudders. Gwen looks sadly at me. When I can't look down, I decide to look at her for strength. "There's this girl... I don't want to say who it is, but you all know her, and they tried to keep it a secret from me for a long time, but they basically paid her to be... to be... friends with me. My only friend. She kept me from meeting people, from talking to people..."

I trail off again. It's almost too much. It would be if I didn't know that Gwen truly cared. "It's Aubrey, right?"

 _She's been paying attention…_ "Yeah," I say, wiping at an eye. Like a baby. My parents never liked me crying much. "And it just... I never felt secure here, because I never knew anyone, and it just always felt like everyone was out to get me somehow. And I never had any reason to believe differently."

Somehow talking has made me feel less relieved and more sick to my stomach. As if sharing has made all those issues more and more real. I got used to Aubrey after a while. My parents have been that way as long as I can remember. Admitting that there might be a problem makes everything so much worse...

I never should have opened up.

But then Gwen says something that I don't expect. "Look, if I'd had any idea I wouldn't have just sat there."

"Me neither," Chanel is quick to say, and I don't care enough to analyze if she really means it. I'm just... drained.

"It's fine," I say. "I should have said something. I should've spoken up."

"Don't blame yourself. You were just put in a bad situation. You can't put pressure on yourself for the way other people hurt you," Chanel says.

I don't quite know what to say to that. I just nod and swallow thickly, trying not to let my tears fall.

There's another heavy silence. Awkward is an understatement. This moment is unbearable.

That's when Gwen comes over and puts her arms around me. "I'm so sorry," she says, and before I can react she's engulfed me in a hug.

I'm too stunned to know how to react. "It's... it's okay..."

"It's not," she says, voice muffled in my shoulder.

And that's when it really hits me, and the tears really start flowing. Because she's right… none of how I've felt for the last few years has ever been okay. It's been miserable.

I don't mind my crying anymore. It's embarrassing, but it doesn't matter, and I can forgive myself.

Gwen may be the only one who cares right now. But one is better than none.

I feel relief pass through my body with every shuddering breath.

Someone cares. Someone cares about me.

* * *

 **Eimer Otero.**  
 **Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia.**

* * *

We have more than an hour to simply relax and roam the camp, doing whatever we want. Most of my friends head in different directions - Simone, Trina, and Chanel follow Anabel up to the lodge, Brandon disappears towards one of the cabins with Alaina, and Blake says he wants to go find a football to toss around. Any other day, I'd probably join him, since I'm actually not half-bad at most sports. But today, I just need some time to breathe.

And being able to head off on my own for the first time since I've been here feels so _freeing_. I can do anything, talk to anyone, without Alaina or anybody over my shoulder making snide comments or pulling me in another direction. So no one tries to drag me away when I catch up to Freya, Seraphina, and Jeremiah.

Jeremiah greets me with a smile. "We were just going on a walk," he says. "It's our last day and it just doesn't feel like we've had enough of a chance to breathe and enjoy this place, you know?"

"Totally," I say. Here more than ever, I've been swept up in the drama that seems to follow me everywhere.

"We were going to go sit by the water," Freya says, "and maybe get some sun…"

I fight the urge to correct her. We've already passed peak tanning time, and besides, with her fair skin tone, she's more likely to burn. But I'm not one to be condescending for something she doesn't know. God knows I'm usually the one left in the dark.

"Sounds nice," I smile. "Lead the way."

For once, I'm alright with staying quiet and simply enjoying their company. It's a very peaceful walk, even as Freya prattles on to Jeremiah about jokes and memories that only make sense to them. Yet I don't feel like an outsider. I'm very comfortable here with them and Seraphina because I know that none of them intend to make me feel anything other than welcome.

We pick a spot right by the water. With the lake at my feet, grasses swirling around me and sun on my neck… it's finally starting to feel like summer.

And I can't wait. Because summer means I get to go home, all the way back to Australia. I'll get to tan, enjoy the beautiful beaches, and play as much tennis as I want. But most importantly, I'll get to see my mom again.

Maybe our relationship hasn't been the same ever since she shipped me off to Haversmith. In fact, there was a long time where I felt entirely betrayed by her for choosing work over her own daughter. But I just know I can make amends this summer when I see her. She must still care about me.

And even if it weren't for that, summer is my season. It's when I thrive.

"So how'd your guys' groups go?" says Freya, hardly stopping for breath. "Ours was _so_ awkward… Shane literally wouldn't talk to anyone and Monica and Giles were all annoyed at each other and then me and Juliet were just sitting there so confused. Because we had a really nice talk yesterday, right? Where did that all come from?"

The rest of us just shrug, having no way of knowing what could be going on with the people in her group.

"At least you had everyone there," says Jeremiah. "Alex and Sawyer never even showed up. One of the other counselors had to give us our sheet and let us into one of the cabins. It was pretty weird…"

"Probably less depressing," Freya says immediately.

He chuckles. "Maybe a little. How about you guys?" He turns to me and Seraphina. "Anything exciting happen to you?"

I look to Seraphina, but she's blushing, too shy to speak. "Not really," I say. "Nobody really wanted to answer anything. We just talked about… things."

"Oh, same here. I think Jackson might have been the only one who really…"

He trails off mid-sentence, distracted by the voice coming from behind us. We turn around.

" _Eimereimereimereimereimer-_ "

"What's up, Simone?" I ask, trying not to get annoyed with her already. _Why is her voice so high-pitched and squeaky all the time…?_

She finally reaches me, panting. "You _have_ to see this. Come here, come here, come here-"

And even though I think I see Jeremiah shake his head at me, I get up. Before I can think, I'm following her away from the water and back towards the cabins.

"So, get this, right?" She's talking a mile a minute, and I almost have to jog to keep up with her brisk pace. "I swear, it was the most random thing. I was trying to go back to my cabin, you know, after I was talking to Anabel for a bit, no big deal."

She pauses, looks at me, and frowns when I don't say anything. "Don't you want to know why?"

"Why what…? Oh. Anabel. I guess…"

"Well, sorry, but I can't tell. It's super secret. But anyways, so I'm going there, but the door's closed, and I really should have known from the sounds and stuff, but I just barged inside, and…"

I'm starting to think that agreeing to go with her was probably a mistake.

She's grinning. Why is she grinning? What did she do?

Wait, what is she even talking about? Is this still about Anabel, or…?

"See, look. There they are. They were _totally_ doing it. I mean, she tried to act like it wasn't happening when I came in, but it was _so_ obvious…"

I'm no longer listening. Because right in front of me, I see them.

Alaina and Brandon, right outside my cabin. Clothed, but disheveled. Her face is flushed.

I have no reason to care. But, inexplicably, seeing them together, my heart drops.

 _They... hooked up?_

It's like everything that happened last night was a lie. He doesn't care about me. Not when Alaina's around. Maybe he only wanted me for my body, but at least that's something. Is it so bad to like being cared for? To appreciate the littlest bit of attention that means I mean something to somebody?

I'm always second-best. Always have been. So I wonder why I even try.

When Brandon sees me staring, he doesn't say anything. Just throws an arm around Alaina, flashing me a grin.

I'm lost. I have no way to wrap my mind around Brandon or the way his brain works. He's always treated me like a tool. I should have known.

But it gets worse. Because I'm about to head back to the lake, to try to get away from this craziness and distract myself, when Wes suddenly gets in Brandon's face. I don't know when he showed up, but he's seen what he needed to see.

They start to argue. I can't focus on anything they're saying. Because now my eyes are on Alaina, to see if she has the guts to face me.

Before things really start spinning out of control, Alaina looks up. Looks me square in the eyes. And there's little remorse in them. She gives me that same cold stare she gives to anyone she deems beneath her. I'm nothing more than a pawn to her.

When she drops her gaze, my heart crumbles into dust.

* * *

 **Madison Carrell.**  
 **Foster, Rhode Island.**

* * *

"She was _mine_ ," Wes hisses at Brandon. "Why the fuck would you go behind my back like that?"

"What?" That's news to Alaina. "I wasn't _yours_. You know who my boyfriend is."

"Oh, that's even worse," Trina says. "Cheating on your boy with the biggest man-whore in the class. Just wait until Donovan hears. That'll really put a damper on your happy families' reunion at graduation, huh?"

Juliet, Monica, and I have been drawn out of my cabin mid-conversation, curious at the argument going on outside. We're still trying to figure out exactly what we missed.

Alaina's eyes widen. "This wasn't my _choice,_ okay? You don't get it. He threatened to tell…"

"Tell what?"

But she's silent. "Doesn't matter. Leave us alone."

Of course, Trina doesn't back off. "Listen, princess. You may think your stupid crown protects you from any kind of payback, but you're wrong. I'll fuck you up if I have to." Then, she shoves her backwards.

Nobody else seems to know why Trina's so upset. Nobody but me. Only because of a comment she made a few weeks ago in Acting III, one I'm sure she doesn't even remember making.

" _I know he gets around, but he's so hot. I think confidence is_ so _attractive."_

" _Who?"_

" _Brandon, of course. Trust me, I know he thinks he's hot shit, but he's kind of right. We argue a lot and he's kind of a dick, and it works. We have this love-hate thing going on and I'm pretty sure he's into it."_

I didn't ask for her to tell me any of it, but I guess she trusts me enough to know I won't tell. She's not the only one, either. I probably have more dirt on anyone here than even Simone, but who would know? I don't make a habit of blabbing to everyone I know.

Wes steps in between the girls. "Stay out of this, Trina. Stop shoving your fat nose in everything."

"This isn't just about you!" she shouts. She pushes around him to go face-to-face with Alaina. "If you could just keep your pants on around _one_ fucking person-"

"Let it go," Chanel groans. "It might surprise you to know Brandon actually has standards, but he's never going to fuck a bitch with a unibrow."

That's when all hell breaks loose. And I know I shouldn't watch, but it's like none of us can turn away.

Trina and Chanel become locked in a battle of fists and elbows. Soon enough, Wes is throwing a fist at Brandon, whose smug smirk is wiped off his face by the first square hit he receives in the jaw.

I know what that's about, too. But only because I've heard the stories of girls he manipulated and used. His favorite hobby is turning people against each other. A master of deception, he always seems to pin the blame on someone else.

I shouldn't condone the violence, but I know he did this on purpose, and really, he had it coming to him.

I know better than to try to break this fight up. Giles, trying to be noble, steps in between Wes and Brandon and gets knocked down in one punch. He crumples on the ground, nose streaming blood.

I don't know where Gabrielle, Quincy, or Shane come from, but before I know it, they're in the thick of things too. The redhead ends up wrestling with Chanel and shoving her against the wall. When she finally throws the smaller girl off of her, sputtering and livid, Chanel has fingernail marks scratched down the side of her face.

Quincy and Shane originally seem like they're trying to defend Wes, but soon enough, they turn on each other, throwing fists and trading blows.

Somehow, Alaina manages to stay out of the chaos, watching the madness with an air of indifference. As if this wasn't caused by her.

It's the worst fight I've seen at Haversmith. Maybe there were worse ones in the two years before I came here, but everything back at school was usually shut down in a few minutes, before anyone could cause any serious damage.

But it takes Jackson running for help to get any assistance from any adults. Which makes no sense. By the time Sawyer and Milo arrive with him, nearly every student at camp has been drawn to the lake by the noise. There's no way they were so oblivious as to miss the mayhem going on just feet from their rooms.

Even stranger is the lazy pace at which the counselors approach. They stroll in, giving off an air of mild amusement, as if this isn't a violent fight, but a friendly argument between buddies.

Eventually, Sawyer steps in. He, Milo, and two other counselors pull Shane from Quincy, Brandon from Wes, and Gabrielle and Trina from Chanel. No one looks good, their faces swelling or bloodied. Giles is all but unconscious. Blood dribbles from Quincy's lips and down his chin.

"The rest of you, get out of here." Sawyer points towards our cabins. "We'll call you for dinner. Just- go."

He and the others drag the rest of the involved students towards a far cabin. But Juliet, Monica, and I can only look at each other, still in shock at all the pandemonium.

"Let's go back to my room," I say.

Back in the cabin, Juliet and I crash on the single bed, while Monica sprawls out along the lower bunk.

Even with the door propped open, the humidity remains, heat weighing all of us down.

"Does anyone know what just happened?" Juliet asks. "Or am I the only one who's a little lost?"

"Here's what I got," Monica says. "Alaina and Brandon hooked up, but she wasn't really into it, but Wes got all pissed at him for messing with 'his girl,' which isn't even true. Trina was just there to make a scene, like she always is..."

"Where did everyone else come from?" Juliet asks. "It didn't have anything to do with Quincy."

"Some people just need to be in the middle of everything," she says. "I think he and Gabrielle just needed an excuse to punch somebody."

They keep talking, trying to wrap their minds around the craziness, but before long I can't keep listening. I'm far too tired to stay engaged.

When they go quiet, I lay my head down on my arms with a groan.

"You good, Mads?"

"I just want to go home," I sigh.

"I want to go for a hike," says Monica. "And then I want to go home."

"It was nice here for a while," says Juliet. "But I actually miss school. Not the work, obviously, but there was always something to do instead of just sitting around and waiting."

She's right. All of our actions here have been controlled and restricted. It's no wonder that after three days, the usual suspects just couldn't take it anymore. They snapped.

"Not to mention, my phone," Juliet continues. "I think this is the longest I've ever gone without checking Facebook…"

We all laugh a little. It's not much, but I feel some of the tension in our room diffuse. By this time tomorrow, we'll all be home, and everything will be back to normal. Finally.

I can't wait for this all to be some distant memory.

All we have to do is finish this final night. Maybe there's some punishment waiting for us at dinner, courtesy of the most violent and dramatic of our class, but at this point, I can't really be bothered to worry about it.

And maybe I'm not typically one to be so optimistic, but as I doze off, I find myself hoping that tonight isn't going to be as rough as I expect it to be. Maybe this trip might end on a positive note.

God knows we could all use some positivity.

* * *

 **Hard Feelings/Loveless by Lorde.**

* * *

 **I was hoping to get this up a little earlier today, but when have I ever gotten a chapter up when I wanted to?**

 **Oh, and we finally hit the double-digit mark on chapters. Over a year later. But I think it's still something of an accomplishment...**

 **One more pre-Games chapter to close out this half of the story, and then we have the Games. Before we get there, though, there's drama galore. Some cruelty. Secrets are revealed. Is it a little over-the-top? Maybe. All I know is, I got a kick-ass lyric picked out and I'm really excited to get working on it. So expect that soon.**

 **Also I'm beyond fucking ready for these kids to know wtf is going on. If I have to hint at it forever I'm going to lose my mind. So yeah.**

 **I forgot how to write A/Ns so thanks for listening to my rambling and I'll see youuuuuu in a bit!**


	11. Closing In

_You're afraid the mistakes that you made dug your grave but baby, that's the price you pay._

* * *

 **Trina Kellington.  
** **Barnard, Vermont.**

* * *

I'm expecting to be screamed at a healthy amount, or lectured at the very least, by the counselors who march us into one of their cabins. Instead, Giles, Gabrielle, Quincy, Chanel, Wes, Brandon, and I are treated to bandaging and disinfectant for our various wounds.

It's the nicest thing they've done for me since I arrived. Now if only they had some type of medicine to make me less pissed off, I'd be golden.

Giles sits on the edge of a bed, clutching an ice pack to his nose. Shane has one- for his eye, I assume- that he mindlessly kneads between his hands, as if he's confused what to do with it.

I sit still and let Anabel bandage my hands and dab blood from underneath my eye with a soft square of gauze. With her hair pulled back in a smooth blonde ponytail and t-shirt tight against her chest, she's got the slutty nurse look down to a T. She gives me a slim smile and tosses the gauze, then presses an instant cold pack into my palms. "There. All better. Now, you'll stay away from fighting anyone again, won't you?"

I just scoff. "Only if people stop giving me reasons to hate them." I'm not tired in the slightest- in fact, I'm on fire. I'm itching to do more. I'm itching for revenge.

Curiously, her smile freezes on her face. "Stay back and wait for everyone else to be done. I need to talk to you."

I have a feeling I know what it's about. Sure enough, after everyone else has been sent to dinner, Anabel takes me outside.

She tries to look casual, leaning against the doorframe and running an Eos chapstick over her lips, but up close, I can sense the tension in her shoulders. "You remember our agreement, don't you?"

Of course, I remember. It kept me up late last night, making me worry and wonder why she of all people would make such an odd and, dare I say it, cruel request. But as I thought about it, I realized that perhaps she's a little like me. Outwardly, she presents a facade- in her case, a cheery one- to hide the troubled young woman underneath.

"Of course. But..." I struggle to decide how to phrase my next words. I'm no coward, and I've never shied away from hitting someone where it hurts, but it almost seems wrong to target someone who's never been a threat to me. Especially not when there are so many more meaningful targets, those who've truly wronged me. They're all clearly marked with gauze and inky bruises. "Why am I targeting... him?"

Her expression is unreadable. "I can't give you all the details quite yet. But believe me, it's in your best interest to instill fear towards him… and distract people from yourself."

"Myself?"

"Let me put this another way," she says, capping her lip balm and sliding it into her pocket. "If your classmates had to choose between you and… let's say... Jeremiah, to keep around, who do you think they'd pick?"

I glare at her. "Probably him…"

"What about Gerard?"

"Him," I say, annoyed. "But that's only because he's so damn nice all the time-"

"Quincy?"

I pause, considering. I'm no idiot. Both of us are clearly disliked, but if it came down to the two of us, who's more bearable? "Me, probably," I finally decide. _Glad to know I have some ounce of self-esteem left._

"I agree," she says. I allow a smirk to creep onto my lips. "And here's why. Both of you are… well… bullies. Despised. But people aren't _afraid_ of you the way they are of him."

I nod slowly. It's no compliment, but I'm beyond caring at this point.

"The point is," she says, "you may think you've hurt people, and you may even think Quincy has hurt people. But believe me. Not the way _he_ has. And if you can show people why they should fear him, you'll look far better in comparison."

She's right. I've seen the papers. If I had known how ugly of a past he'd had before, I would have made his life hell. I almost regret not finding out about it sooner.

Almost. But now, I have the chance to humiliate him on a grander stage, in front of half his class.

It's the sort of thing that's right up my alley.

"So when are we doing this?" I pose the question casually, as if my insides aren't all buzzing with nerves and excitement and- maybe a sliver of guilt, but when have I ever done the right thing in my life? Why should today be any different?

Besides, she said she'd reward me… whatever that means.

"Not _we_. You." She points a rose-manicured finger at me. "I was never a part of this. If anyone asks, Simone told you." I don't even realize how serious she's being until her face visibly relaxes back into a calm smile. "We'll call you up after dinner, alright? Until then... try to relax. Eat what you can. And don't breathe a word of this to _anyone_."

I smile. It is so nice to feel like I'm in on the world's most important secret. "I wouldn't dare."

Back in the cafeteria, dinner is essentially silent. Seeing as more than half our table was involved somehow in the fight, there's not much to say that isn't some sort of insult, and I'm really trying to save some of my energy for later. Alaina keeps her eyes down, not taking her eyes away from her greasy pizza slice, though she's not eating any of it. Neither am I; mine is still frozen in the center, and has the flavor of the cardboard it no doubt came in.

One person's absence only makes everything weirder: Eimer has relocated to Jeremiah's and Freya's table. I catch her glancing awkwardly at us, and she just frowns and turns away.

It feels like ages later when Rosalie finally stands on one of the tables and taps a glass. The room falls quiet. For a second, her eyes pass over us. And maybe I'm imagining it, but it seems like they freeze on me, twinkling momentarily with excitement.

"As soon as you're finished eating, please bus your trays and find your leaders outside."

She seems to revel in the power she has, even for such a simple statement. I'm breathless, waiting for what she's about to announce.

But it's just as ambiguous as Anabel's explanation.

"We have a special surprise for you tonight."

* * *

 **Harper Robbins.  
** **London, England.**

* * *

We're back at the lodge in minutes.

Rosalie knocks at the wooden doors. A long moment passes before they finally creak open, and one of the counselors whose name I neither know nor care to know looks out, bluish eyes wide under a mess of blonde hair. "You're early," she says.

"We sent them to dinner early," she says brusquely. "There were some... complications this afternoon. Clarence should have let you know."

"He did," she says. "Well, luckily for you, we're ready early, anyways. We run a tight ship around here."

"Don't I know it," Rosalie chuckles, but I don't get the humor in it.

The woman- she doesn't look much older than me, really- steps aside to let us inside. As I pass by her, I catch a whiff of liquor on her breath.

I nearly stop in my tracks, caught off guard. Maybe I could understand if someone like Milo or Zara were drinking on the job- I mean, look at what they've had to put up with- but I've seen this girl maybe once over the last three days, have no idea what role she has out here. Maybe she's one of the nameless cooks. It would explain the dwindling quality of the food, anyways.

A folded paper with a messily sharpied number six sits on a table at the very front of the shadowed room. On the stage in front of it are two podiums, one on either side. And on them, a single lamp and a stack of papers.

I take my seat, feeling slightly uneasy.

Rosalie steps up to one of the podiums. Even without a microphone, her voice carries throughout the room. "I want you all to take a moment to think about the people in your life that are closest to you. It could be your family. It could be some of the people in this room. But for a moment, I just want you to think of them, and the things you'd say to them if you could only see them one last time."

It's kind of a weird request, but it's a no-brainer to do, because there's nothing to say. There's no one here who I'd genuinely be sad to leave, who I actually like. As for my family, that's just as much of a joke. Maybe my mother is nice, but I wouldn't know. She's uninteresting. My father has always been overbearing, so if she vanished, I'm not sure I'd ever notice.

After a few minutes, Rosalie's voice again pulls a knife through the silence. "You may be feeling trapped in the wilderness here. Isolated. We understand that it's been a rough few days, and several of you may have lashed out at each other because you're unhappy." _That's one way of putting it. Although it's not as if they didn't think all the fighting was amusing._ "But we want to remind you that there's a world out there full of people who are thinking of you. Even when you've felt alone, someone has had you on their mind. So I'd like to ask for two volunteers."

Several hands go up, none as eagerly as Trina's. She's selected almost instantly. Then Nico follows her up to the front, leaving our table with three members.

As they head to the the front, the last of the overhead lights click off, plunging the room into shadow.

There's squeaky footsteps as Trina's and Nico's silhouettes cross the stage. There's a breath of silence. And then, a sharp click.

One of the lamps hums to life.

Another click. Both lamps are on.

Trina steps forward, allowing her features to be illuminated by the glow of the golden lamp. Her eyes drop to the pages in front of her. "Our dearest Freya," she begins.

Griffin and Brandon jerk their heads up. _What?_

"We have always loved everything about you. Never angry, always caring, you have never had anything in your heart but absolute kindness. We are so fortunate to have such a ray of light in our lives, for when you arrived in the world eighteen years ago, you truly showed us what love looked like."

Who wrote this? Trina sure didn't. I know from going to school with her for years, as well as rooming with her the last two nights, that she's a certifiable nightmare without a trace of kindness in her body.

"It absolutely killed both of us to send you away to school so far from home, but as we've said before, we did it because we knew it was best for you. Now, we wish we could have kept you closer. I'm sorry for nagging you so much about all the time you spent doing your hair in the mirror, because I didn't feel it was as important as the heart you had inside you. I now know that if it was important to you, it ought to have been equally as important to us."

Freya giggles a little at the beauty comment, but from what little of her face I can make out, she still seems confused. Only when Trina finishes the rest of the letter, ending with "Love always, Mom and Dad," does she understand. These words are not from Trina, but from Freya's parents.

Nico goes right into Gerard's letter a second after Freya's ends.

"When you were born, I wasn't sure how I would be able to raise a baby boy all on my own, especially in the wake of your father walking out on us. But I quickly found that you were all I needed. From a young age you proved to be a curious, loving boy, always respectful and always so kind, with nearly as many friends as books in your library. I have always been proud to be your mother. I always will be."

As Trina and Nico read, the letters begin to blend together in my mind. Some brief, and some much longer, many hint at regret or heartache, parents or guardians confessing hidden secrets they never got to express, mostly among those adults who never paid much attention to their kids. Jeremiah's parents note that they wish they would have seen him more when he was home for summer, but they couldn't blame him for spending most of his time out with friends, since they never made time for him. Alaina's mother writes that although it may have seemed as if she and Alaina's father only paid attention to her brother, they were always proud of Alaina too, especially for her diverse accomplishments in school and the manner in which she held herself.

Simone's letter, though, is the most interesting of the bunch.

"We should have fit more time for you and each other into our hectic schedules, but we always thought there would be a better time. Even when you broke into that car or were caught after burning down Emerson's bakery-" here, Trina coughs to try to cover up her laughter- "we were too self-centered to realize that you just wanted some of our attention. Sending you to school so far from home felt like the best option to straighten you out, but in retrospect, we should never have let you out of our sight."

There are a few other giggles at the bakery news, but they're quickly smothered. Every response seems restrained. Trina's voice cracking as she reads her own letter. Brandon tensing as he hears from his parents. Because something still feels odd about this setup. I realize what it is when it's my own name that's called.

"Harper."

 _Here we go_ , I groan inwardly.

"We may have constantly butted heads throughout your childhood. I tried to teach you respect, I tried to teach you submission, but you were far more stubborn than I hoped you'd be. Still, your mother says you have a free spirit that she's always admired, and I suppose there are other charming aspects of you that I was never able to see. It's not my fault that you were never interested in being the daughter I always thought you could be, but I realize now that I could never change you. You had your heart set on a more active, introverted life than I saw you enjoying. Perhaps I always misunderstood you."

He doesn't end with an _I love you_ , but it's still the most affection my father's ever given me. As brief as it is, it's... touching, for a change.

I can barely listen to the next few letters because my head is swirling.

My father has never been good at expressing emotions or even understanding them. I don't think I ever saw much out of him besides anger and disappointment. He could never accept my inconsideration of fitting in or my passion for outdoor sports. He expected me to be like my mother- delicate and beautiful, though with any hope more outgoing. He got none of the three. I've never been one to conform to others' standards. Not at school, and not with my father.

The thought of him accepting me warms me briefly, until I realize: There is no way in hell he would ever say this to my face.

That's one trait I inherited from my father- I'm stubborn as all get out. In his case, he never admits defeat, even when he's wrong.

He must not have known I would be hearing this. He's far too proud for that.

Which begs the question- what did the school have to do to make him say these things?

* * *

 **Griffin Ellings.  
** **Macatawa, Michigan.**

* * *

My letter hasn't been read yet, and it's killing me.

Dread and terror have all but taken me over, making my stomach twist and writhe. I don't know who would write me a letter. And I'm afraid of what it would say.

"Madison," Nico reads, as I turn my attention once more to the face at the front of the room.

The petite girl shrinks in her seat.

"Your mother and I don't disagree on much. But our biggest, and longest-running disagreement always had to do with you and the future you were hurtling towards. Your mother made it very clear that she supported you in your dream of becoming an Olympian, but I worry that I may have given you the wrong idea by pushing you to quit."

Olympian? That turns some heads. But Madison only slides deeper in her chair.

"I could always see that gymnastics gave you a fire that nothing else did. We were always so amazed at your dedication in the gym, at your work ethic and never-say-die attitude that allowed you to become one of the top gymnasts not just in your age group, but in the country. When you were hurt and your dream was stolen away from you, a part of me hurt too. I never wanted you to be unhappy, though I fear it may have seemed that way."

I watch Madison, so clearly uncomfortable with the attention. Why would she not be proud of herself for that?

 _Maybe some people just don't like their past to be known,_ a voice mocks me. My blood chills.

"Your mother always made a point to tell you that you never needed to earn our approval, because we always loved you regardless of what you achieved. And sometimes, that love overpowers everything. Maybe if I tried harder, I could have seen gymnastics the way you saw it, but I loved you too much. I could never stand letting you risk being hurt. And now... if I could do it all again... I'd have let you do it. You deserved to be happy. I'm sorry I couldn't always see that."

My heart swells, a childish part of me aching for the sort of support Madison's father wishes he could have given her. At least her mother could believe in her dream. Because I've never had something as true as that.

Maybe that's not entirely true. Camilla drove me around the country all summer and winter break last year to audition at all my dream universities. She's been to every show the last two years. But she and Max haven't been around my whole life.

I've had more caregivers in my life than most of my friends have had iPhones. Unlike those phones, my first few sets of parents came programmed with flaws. My father never had the sense to come around after he left my mother, only a teenager, pregnant in a juvenile detention hall. The Gundersons treated me like an animal, keeping me essentially locked in the basement for my first few years as a foster child. And Dexter… Dexter was violent, to say the very least.

All of those families were broken from the beginning.

But maybe Camilla would write me something. Or Max. He's stern and serious, but he only wants me to behave. I don't think he holds any feelings of animosity towards me. I just don't know if we're yet close enough for any real sign of affection.

As Yuto's letter draws to a close, I wait for the next letter to be read.

It never comes.

The silence stretches. Nico puts down his final paper, then isn't really sure what to do. Trina, however, remains poised. She straightens her shoulders and flips her page. "That makes all the letters for tonight."

So no one wrote me anything. I'm equally embarrassed, hurt, and confused, even though I shouldn't have expected anything. Just my stupid optimism getting the best of me.

But I thought my parents would do _something_ for me. They must love me a little. I mean, they didn't have to adopt me. They could have swept me along like the others, keeping me on an aimless path through life. Doesn't that mean anything?

"But we do have one last message in honor of the one boy whose letter was not read," she continues.

I look up. Around me, students are glancing around, trying to remember whose hasn't been read yet. Only those at my table immediately know it was me. Harper stares at me, but when I catch her, she quickly morphs her curious look into something more neutral. I'm sure her expression reflects my own confusion.

Trina clears her throat and reads from her script. "While Griffin Ellings did have something written from his _adopted_ father, some new information arose surrounding his upbringing. And despite some of the good qualities that this _Max_ attempted to relate, there were disparities in the overall story. And so we reached out to those closest to him and discovered the truth."

My stomach drops into my feet. _No… no!_

She clears her throat and reads the words of someone I prayed I'd never hear from again. "Griffin has not had an easy childhood. But we took a chance on the kid who was born in a prison to a teen stuck on heroin, the kid who was kept in a basement for the better part of five years in his first home and beaten like a dog in his second. He came to us at fourteen, strangely chipper and optimistic for a kid who, on paper, sounded like he'd been through absolute hell. We ought to have known it was only a matter of time before his true colors were revealed."

"This isn't true!" I finally am able to shout. "That's not me. Where's my letter, Trina?"

I push out of my chair, body quivering with fear and hatred and absolute terror at the thought of what she could reveal. But it seems like she's prepared for me. Dark, muscled arms wrap around me in an instant, filling in those familiar places where I used to feel rough hands choking and scratching me, and I lash out habitually. Quincy's larger and stronger than me. Just like Dexter was. I shudder reflexively. _This all feels too real._

"Stop it," I growl. "Don't say anything else-"

Quincy punches a hand in front of my mouth. As much as I thrash, I can't break free. Can't speak. Can't stop anything that's happening to me.

Why is nobody helping me? Are they all too cowardly to stand up to the two biggest bullies in the school? Or are they blinded by their curiosity, tempted to find out exactly what it is that can make the drama kid really freak out?

I thought I left that past behind. But instead, I'm a little kid again, and I'm powerless. Utterly powerless to the words and actions of my abusers. And unassisted by those who stand idly by.

"Griffin Ellings proved to be a monster," she continues, echoing the words of my third foster father, the last one before Max. The first one who was ever really good to me. "We gave him everything he could ever wish for. We bought him nice things and tried to raise him like our own child. We sent him to private school. We trusted him with Elena, our daughter, who began to see him as a friend. And we never, ever tried to hurt him. Yet somehow that wasn't good enough for him."

I try to scream, but Quincy just stuffs his hand further in my mouth and jabs at my windpipe with an elbow. Soundless tears stream from my eyes as I thrash in his grip. _How does she have this? Why is she doing this to me?_

"It started with little arguments. He took offense to some of the comments I made. Then the arguments turned physical. Even as an adolescent he was tall and large, too big for me to fend off. He attacked me one night after we had a fight over his grades. The next time, he pulled one of the kitchen knives on me. I should have kicked him out then and there, but I was blind to how cruel and violent he was. I truly believed I could turn him around."

I squeeze my eyes shut. _This isn't happening. If I can't see it, it isn't happening._

"Then he turned on Elena. My baby was just ten years old, skinny as a rail, so fragile and trusting. He could have killed her. Damn near broke her neck when he shoved her down the stairs."

 _It was an accident!_ I try to scream. No sound comes out.

"He changed our family in the worst way. Elena has never been the same. And so I hate to say it, but he deserves all the pain in the world that's coming to him, for all the pain he caused me and my entire family."

It takes several seconds for me to realize Trina's done speaking. Even then, my ears won't stop ringing.

There's a common fear a lot of people have about standing in front of people. Most people are uncomfortable being so vulnerable. They say they want nothing more than to sink into the floor and vanish when they have to give a speech, or read a passage from a book, or present a project in front of the class.

But that kind of anxiety is nothing. Because stuttering in front of people doesn't really make you feel like you're drowning. Mispronouncing a single word won't make you so sick and dizzy you feel like you're four hours into a battle with the flu. And a little bit of stage fright isn't the same as absolutely, unquestionably, wishing you were dead.

I keep my eyes shut, refusing to look at the faces around me. Because I know what I'll see. Disgust. Hatred. Pity. Or, the worst: fear. I've never been _intimidating_ before. I'm just that loud, obnoxious kid who acts a few years too young and probably bothers some people, but can't really be taken seriously.

I'm still that kid. Somewhere. I have to be!

But on the outside, I'm someone new to the twenty-nine other people who thought they knew me.

I'm a monster.

* * *

 **Juliet Maudsley.  
** **Peoria, Illinois.**

* * *

This silence is tense and deafening.

I can't peel my eyes away from Griffin and the anguished look on his face. That's the expression of someone who's truly hurting. He's been betrayed in the worst way.

We all have our secrets, but they're private for a reason. Ours and only ours to give away. For Trina to share the darkest parts of Griffin's life to all of us, with him powerless to stop her, is one of the worst things she's ever done.

Besides, this can't be true. Can it?

Griffin is melting down. His body shudders with sobs, and when Quincy finally lets him go- seeing no reason to continue strangling him- he bolts for the exit. Two counselors, those _assholes,_ move to block the door. But even when he's not in a mood, he's six foot and strong. They seem to think better of trying to stop him, and step aside to let him out to who knows where.

Monica frowns at me, looking like she wants to say something, but nobody knows how to break the silence.

 _What?_ I mouth to her.

 _Is that true?_ she mouths back.

I don't want to believe it, especially for someone like him. From what I've seen Griffin's always been so well-mannered and more or less obedient, not to mention goofy and pretty playful for someone who's accused of not only being abused, but attacking his foster parents. I can only shrug.

Shane catches my eye, and points a thumb towards the door. _Outside. Talk._

I shake my head. This is _not_ the time.

 _Later_ , he mouths.

Rosalie and Baptiste get to their feet- lazily, leisurely. Their pace is frustrating to me. _Why aren't you mad? Why are you allowing this?_ They unceremoniously replace Trina at the front, letting her glide towards the back.

Weightless. Like she's on a high. But the only way she raised her pedestal was by pushing Griffin's down.

It's so unfair. He never deserved it. And something about the way the counselors hardly seem to react- no, there's Sawyer, shooting Trina a bitchy smirk- the way they seem almost _proud_ of her, makes me wonder if they had anything to do with it.

No, no. That's crazy talk. Why would they even care what we do or say to each other? And it's no challenge to believe that Trina would pull this kind of crap simply for her own amusement.

I try to take a deep breath, but spikes line my lungs, making every breath feel ragged. I know exactly why I'm so upset.

Because I fear that I could easily be next.

Sawyer surveys the room, taking in our range of expressions. Someone bolder than myself might speak out. I don't. I don't want the spotlight on myself any more than Griffin did.

"Reflect on those tonight while you get ready for bed," he drawls. "You're free to go."

Our table shakily gets to our feet as the overhead lights flicker back on into a pale beige glow. "And try to get as much sleep as you can tonight, yeah? No doubt you're going to need it," he continues.

Slowly turning to leave, I barely catch Rosalie slapping Sawyer's wrist, giving him a stern glance. _Wonder what that's about…_

As we filter out of the hall, like sand slipping through the mouth of an hourglass, a sinking disappointment sets into my bones. At myself. At everyone else for refusing to stand up for him. Does anyone else even _care_?

Suddenly Shane pulls me aside and around the side of the lodge. I don't even wait to let him speak. "Why is nobody else outraged?" I ask him. "Griffin was just completely betrayed- Trina made up all those terrible things-"

"Shh. Juliet." Shane's voice is inexplicably calm, though his eyes register a flash of panic. "Listen to me."

"Sorry," I apologize.

"I don't think Trina was lying."

I can only stare at him, fixating on the yellowing tone around his eyes. "What? But-"

"I've roomed with Griffin the last two nights. Night one, I couldn't sleep. It was maybe three in the morning. Quincy was out cold. And Griffin was talking in his sleep, having some kind of nightmare. There was no way I couldn't _not_ hear it. He was begging, kind of whimpering, I didn't know what about. But when I was up the next morning, early, I saw his face as I left. Even asleep, his eyes were still swollen with tears."

I squeeze my eyes shut, wincing. "He never acted like anything was wrong…" I say quietly.

"Why would he?" he scoffs. "You know what he's like. So loud, damn near obnoxious half the time, but we let him do his thing because he's funny. What do you want him to do? Be a sniveling little crybaby all the time? Curl up in a ball when someone points a sharpened pencil at him? No."

"But this wouldn't have happened this way if he'd just told somebody. We could have learned to… to accept him…"

I trail off, knowing I'm spewing the most hypocritical lie of my life. Haven't I always hidden my real self away to protect myself from criticism? I've never let anyone at school know about my secret obsession with online games like _Ragnarok Online_. No doubt I'd be treated like some sort of geek or weirdo. So I always played late at night, long after my roommate fell asleep. Some afternoons, I'd lock the door and pretend not to hear her knocking, lie to her later that I'd been napping, when really I was spending hours clearing my quest log or chatting with players on the other side of the globe. As far as anyone knew or knows, I'm entirely normal. Just your average Starbucks-obsessed, Foodstagram-running, selfie-snapping girl.

In my view, it's far better to be a stereotype than an outcast.

Maybe I've been paranoid, but I never wanted to risk being outed for my weird hobbies. Because I know the way the world works, probably better than most. It's harsh. Kids are cruel and they don't like those of us who don't conform. And at a school like Haversmith, where it's every person for themselves, neither Griffin nor I would have stood a chance.

"Forget it," I say. These are dangerous thoughts. Now is no time to let my guard down.

Shane blows a breath out into the heavy night air. "You're dropping this?"

"It's late, Shane," I sigh. My eyes drift heavenward to the ivory sliver of moon above. "I need to let it go if I want to get any rest."

"Just remember-" he starts, then stops himself.

"What?"

He shakes his head. "It's nothing. Just... this doesn't make him any different, right? We're all hiding something. It's not fair to let a secret change your opinion of someone, especially tonight."

I only nod. I don't want to think about this anymore; I just want to put the night behind me.

But as I start toward my room, bidding Shane goodnight, his words stay with me. _We're all hiding something._

I've lied my whole life. When will it finally catch up with me?

Exactly how large of a hole have I dug for myself?

* * *

 **Jackson Stroud.  
** **Sands Point, New York.**

* * *

"Would you move your feet for me, Alex?"

Sprawled out across my bunk- _my_ bunk- because he's too drained to climb into his own, Alex grunts. "Tell me why I should."

"Because you're blocking my toiletry bag."

"You'll survive one night without brushing your teeth," he says, voice muffled by his pillow.

I've barely survived three without my White Strips. Although, somehow I don't think that sentiment will help the matter much.

"Please, Alex."

"You want your toothpaste, make me move."

"Make you move? I'd watch your words, Grim, unless you want him snapping your neck like Griffin did," Giles chimes in.

We both freeze. Giles flashes us an odd grin from his bunk as he puffs his pillow.

"Not cool," I say.

"Oh, come on. He had it coming. I mean, kid tries to kill someone, of course he deserves some hell, right?"

"No one said he tried to kill someone..." Alex mutters.

"He pulled a knife. He pushed a girl-"

While arguing is definitely my strong subject- in fact, I love a good debate more than almost anything- I can't get into this when there's something so paramount weighing on my mind. "This isn't the point," I say, keeping my tone calm and even, although my heartbeat shudders in my chest. "Aren't you guys a little freaked out about the letters? Not just Griffin's. Don't you remember any of the others? They all sounded so... final. Simone's letter. Listen to how it ended. 'In retrospect, we never should have let you out of our sight _.'_ "

"Probably because she's a fucked-up attention whore who nobody likes," Giles says.

"I think it's more serious than that," I say, pacing the room. My bare toes clutch the threads of our raggedy carpet, and I find myself wishing desperately to be home, for the first time in a long time. But why does home feel so far away? So distant, so unreachable... I'll be back in a few days. Won't I? "Harper's letter. Her... dad, I'll assume, told her that he 'realizes now that he never could have changed her.' Why now? What makes now any different than yesterday? Or a week ago?"

"You're overthinking this," Alex says. But some shadow has fallen over his face as I've made my points. This doesn't sit right with him either.

"And you want to talk about Griffin, Giles? His is the strangest of the bunch." I clench my fingers into fists, trying to hold onto my senses. Every breath feels more shallow than the last, but I refuse to get flustered, even as sweaty and stuffy as the room feels. _You're fine. Everyone's fine_.

But I don't truly believe that, do I?

"Why would anyone want to reach out to a family who despises him right before graduation?" I continue, knowing there's no sensible answer. "Just to taunt him or torment him? Say what you will about Haversmith, but no one with any authority is cruel enough to do that. Especially not when everyone else is hearing probably the nicest things they've ever been told by their previously uninvolved parents." Myself included _._ "And why would they even have anything to say to him after what he allegedly did?"

"Hold that thought," Alex says, finally getting to his feet. I almost dive for my bag, but luckily remain poised enough to pluck it up with some sort of dignity. "I've got to open a window or something. I feel like I'm being smoked out."

He rattles the door handle, but the thing won't budge. Locked. Why are they always trying to lock us in?

Frustrated, Alex climbs on the front edge of my bed, rips the curtains aside, and strains himself to pull the window up. But it's practically frozen in place.

I can feel sweat breaking out across my forehead. "Let me," I try to say confidently, knowing I'm certainly stronger. I have to maintain a good physique to look this good all the time. And I hate to say it, but Alex just seems frail. "Let me," I repeat, but it comes out raspy, my throat inexplicably dry. What I'd do for a warm cup of herbal tea...

I pull against the window with all my strength, but it feels like it's cemented down.

"I can't..." I finally say, turning around. I feel useless, suddenly fatigued.

"Why is it so fucking... hot..." Giles groans, rubbing his eyes.

Alex just sits against the side of my bed, defeated. Motionless.

"Alex, get up," I have to say, stifling a yawn. I really am exhausted...

"I... I can't. I'm so..."

That's when he goes limp, sliding to the floor.

"Alex?" I whisper, my voice incapable of riding above a croak. My pulse pounds in my veins. Something's up. Something's happening. I knew I was right, but I didn't really want to be!

I struggle to my feet, my body inexplicably heavy. With the last of my strength, I reach for the door. But my palms, slick with perspiration, slide from the handle.

I crumple on the floor. Powerless. Useless. Unable to process anything but the swirling image of my room around me, and my overwhelming terror for the unknown.

As my vision drains to black, I see one last thing.

The door opening, just a crack. And the tip of a pointed heel as a woman enters the room.

* * *

 **Set You Free by 3OH!3.**

* * *

 **And with this chapter, the first half of TMDHTM comes to a close. Finally, we're getting to the bulk of the story.**

 **Next chapter- the official/unofficial bloodbath- will be organized a little... differently. All you need to know is, kids are actually going to be dying now. Like, for real. Get ready, because it's definitely not going to be pretty. ('It' refers both to the actual killing, and the writing that will be attempting to describe it. Proceed with caution.)**

 **Oh, and Benefactors are gonna be revealed. Just as soon as I can figure out who goes with who. Damn the half of all submitters who wanted Baptiste for making this way more complicated than it should be.**

 **One more thing- if you drowned in this flood of backstories (sorry) and are confused/pissed off/idfk, I can always clarify through PM. I'm sure there's something in there that's at least a little unclear.**


	12. This Is Not A Game- Bloodbath Part I

**This was too damn long not to break up, so the second half should be up shortly after this one.**

* * *

 _No one knows where the ladder goes  
_ _You're gonna lose what you love the most_

* * *

 **Madison Carell.  
** **Foster, Rhode Island.**

* * *

My ears buzz incessantly, an endless line of static pervading my headspace.

Everything aches- my head, throbbing with every stunted heartbeat. My neck, curled at an unnatural angle. Something digs into the skin between where my hair ends and the collar of my shirt begins, but I'm too drowsy to lift a hand to scratch the offending area.

I'm not sure where exactly I fell asleep, but I really wish I'd drifted off in a position that didn't aggravate my old back injury. A little annoyed at the familiar detested tightness, I try to stretch, but my left hand feels trapped, and when I yawn and try to draw my hand backwards, something on my wrist rattles metallically. Confused, I force my eyes into a bleary sideways squint.

Grey. Everything is grey. Grey walls, grey floor. Grey-brown desks. Grey faces. My classmates are each slumped over their own tables, most motionless but for the occasional snort or twitch. I'm momentarily relieved to have just fallen asleep in another drab economics lecture until the lack of windows or garishly bright decorations fully sets in.

 _Where exactly are we?_

I try to sit up- slowly, since every muscle protests being arranged in a new position- but find that while I can straighten my neck and torso, I'm physically restrained from getting to my feet. Even if it weren't for the shackle on my left wrist chaining me to the desk, my feet have been secured to the floor. Attempting to kick or pull out of the cuffs only results in a painful pinching around my ankles.

Speaking of pinching… I bring my hand up and graze my neck with the back of my hand. There rests an icy metal collar, throbbing ever so faintly in response to my own heightening pulse. If I listen intently enough, I can detect a whisper of an alarm tone.

I call to the first person I can see. "Blake," I whisper. "Blake!"

My voice is drowned out in that grating crackling, which I now realize comes not from my head, but from a television positioned at the top of the front wall. Newspaper-colored arrowheads crawl ominously across the screen. I don't know how long it's been on, but its piercing whining is starting to prod the others back into consciousness. And just in time, too. I'm not one to be paranoid, but as the only one awake, I'm starting to get seriously nervous.

I watch as Blake and Dane, in the adjacent row, slowly come to. Sleepily, they notice their confines, and attempt to pull free. At the very front, Gabrielle takes a more aggressive approach, straining and thrashing against the desk to no avail.

"It's no use." A sickly familiar feminine voice, echoing my thoughts, resounds through the room. The volume makes me wince. "You won't escape."

The crackling cuts off. Gasps and half-drowsy grumbles cloud the stale air as Anabel materializes on-screen. She's more polished than I've seen in days- her hair is straight and gelled without a wisp out of place, and her glowing cheeks are smooth and pristine. There's an odd gleam in her eyes, her gaze darkened under neatly applied eyeliner, and my insides twist like the fingers I clutch and knead on the desk before me.

"What's going on?" Doran blurts out, voice cracking in his panic. "What did you do to us?"

"Why are we locked up?" calls Jeremiah.

"Where are we?"

"What time is it?"

"Let me go!"

Anabel seems to be either unaffected by or uninterested in the chaos occurring in front of her. As everyone's cries and shouts wrestle over each other, her expression is unchanging. I can't tell what she's waiting for.

Monica eventually snaps. "Shut up! You want answers, give her a fucking chance to answer one of them!"

As the room falls into uncertain silence, Quincy shoots her a dirty look. She just rolls her eyes, too fed up to care.

"Good girl, Monica," Anabel grins, her teeth glinting like diamonds. "As you all are hopefully now aware, this was no ordinary field trip. You were sent here for a purpose far bigger than yourselves, for something far more monumental than your self-righteous minds could possibly conceive. Perhaps a few of you ignorantly enjoyed the relative freedoms of the last few days, but you are anything but free, children."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Yuto grumbles from the far corner of the room. "You mind giving us a straight-up answer instead of boring us with this cryptic bullshit?"

The grin slips off Anabel's face. Immediately she's up face-to-face with whatever camera is broadcasting her to our location. "Fine. I'll give you answers. But, for what it's worth, Yuto, this sort of behavior is precisely what landed you in this situation. You are the textbook definition of disrespectful, irresponsible, and self-centered. That is only going to make the news I'm about to break so much sweeter. And, why? Because I get to be the one to _finally_ put you prideful, pretentious snots in your rightful places."

Yuto furrows his brow and leans back in his seat- trying, I can tell, to play it off. But her words are bothering him, too. Where did Anabel's sudden rudeness come from? What is she hinting at?

She releases a tense breath and allows her glare to relax back into the same sweet smile that's been her signature at school. It's unnatural given the circumstances, and I wonder if it was ever truly real. "In response to your questions: It is currently three-thirteen on Friday morning. We- you all- are locked in a secure room at the edges of camp. Soon, most of you will be released into the surrounding wilderness, where you will have seven days to eliminate your competition using whatever means necessary. Come out on top, and you will be graciously allowed to return home to your family. But if, by nightfall next Friday, more than one of you remains, then the entire mountain will detonate, taking no survivors."

I'm still drowsy, so it takes a few beats for her words to sink in. Even then, I don't think I'm quite sure what she means. Eliminate our competition? No survivors? She couldn't possibly mean…

The same question in mind, Simone calls out from the front, "Are you saying that we're all going to die?"

"You must kill each other," Anabel specifies, a smirk crawling across her lips. "Or we'll kill you."

* * *

 _Will I know when it's finally done?  
_ _This whole life's a hallucination_

* * *

 **Audrey Spenser.**  
 **Las Vegas, Nevada**.

* * *

For a long moment, no one says anything. Only the lights, hanging tensely from cord pulled taut, hum nervously above.

It starts with a tightness in my gut. I press my lips together, but can't stop myself from exhaling through my nose. Soon my whole frame is trembling, and then I can't help it. My light laughter picks up until I'm giggling loudly and freely.

People turn around to look at me. Anabel narrows her eyes. "Do you find this funny, Miss Spenser?"

"I just… I just…" I wheeze, incapable of forming a complete sentence. "I mean, come on. Right? It's- it's funny. Guys. She's not serious."

"I _am_ serious," she snaps, frustrated.

"No, you're not," I chuckle. Clearly, she's kidding. And clearly, they drugged me up a little too hard, because everything's still a little fuzzy. Not that I mind the sensation.

"I _am."_ She slams her palms on the table. The clamoring bursts through the speakers. "What I find funny is that _you_ of all people would doubt me."

"Why's that?" I wipe the creases of my eyes with the neck of my t-shirt.

"Miss Spenser. Don't pretend to be so innocent." Her lip curls into a sneer. "You did a hasty job of covering your tracks. No VPN, not even an attempt at data erasing. Anyone could see that it was you who hacked into Ms. March's private emails."

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," I say, leaning back and rolling my neck around to crack it. That shit took way more energy than it was worth, honestly. "Why does it matter?"

"What did you see when you got in there?"

"Oh, I don't know." I mentally take myself back a few weeks. It was a Thursday afternoon, and the single fan in the Precalc room was broken, giving me even less of an initiative to actually show up to class. Instead, I propped a window open in my dorm, laid out on my bed, and vowed to finish the last six episodes of _Game of Thrones_ before I slept so that I'd finally be caught back up. But twenty minutes in, I was seized by the strangest compulsion, inspired by swirling rumors about the fate of the school and of our Headmistress' odd days-long disappearances, and figured I'd put some of my own questions to rest.

I assumed that she was simply lazy, like me, and that was why her password was so easy to crack. Finding anything of value, however, proved to be a greater challenge. After a period of browsing through a plethora of _Talbots_ promotional emails- that explained her tacky sense of style- and skipping through extensive email chains between her and Anabel that I figured were practically spam themselves, I came across a conversation between her and a mysterious Benjamin Caville.

"This guy Ben said something- I don't really remember too much of it, honestly, I was still thinking about _Game of Thrones_ …" I strain my memory. "Oh, yeah. Ms. March was all freaked-out because she thought that what happened to what's-her-name, Sabina, and that other kid who ODed, and the kids who fell off the wall, weren't accidents. Like, that someone here caused them. Oh, and there might have been something about some tragedy happening before the end of the year." I shrug. "But honestly, I was really tired, so who knows."

I don't comprehend why everyone's glaring at me until Monica says, "You knew about this? And didn't think to _tell_ anyone?"

"Well, it's not like anyone ever _asked_ me," I scoff. "And what did I even know _about_ , if none of this is even real?"

Alex speaks up from behind me. "Actually- Sawyer… said something yesterday." His eyes are wide with panic, and he seems to stare right through me. "He was telling me to- to- to prepare myself, somehow, to break ties with everyone. And to understand that it's me against the rest of you. There can't be any friends… relationships…" He winces as he meets my gaze. "...if I wanted to survive."

Now the accusing glares are all on him. "And you didn't think to tell anyone else about that?" Trina whines. "We could have escaped! We could have gotten the hell out of here, but instead, we're locked in this fucking classroom like convicts!"

"Like you're innocent," Alaina scoffs. "After what you said last night."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I saw you before the meeting," she says. "I don't think they're the only ones with some secret intel. So what did Anabel say to _you_ to get you to do what you did?"

"She didn't say anything," Trina smiles, trying unsuccessfully to hide her lie. "Simone knew… blabbed about it to me… it was very typical, honestly."

"I did not!" Simone counters.

"Really?" Trina cocks her head. "And who's going to believe that?"

"I did tell Trina that if she shared what we knew about Griffin, I'd reward her for her loyalty." Anabel looks thoughtful, not appearing to notice Trina's look of offense at being called out. "That's something you'll quickly have to learn, children. Trying to rebel will get you nowhere. Playing by our rules, however… that's what will help you to survive."

"Yeah, okay," I yawn. "Well, until you prove that all of this is real, I might just sit here and stare at the wall. Because your voice is kind of grating on all my nerves, and I'd rather not focus on it if I don't have to."

Anabel glares. Her face fades from the monitor. For a few seconds, I enjoy the silence of an empty screen. Then the television lights up once more, this time with aerial footage of a highway accident.

The camera zooms in. A yellow school bus, tipped on its side on the edge of the freeway, is engulfed in flames. Fire trucks surround the scene, but they're too late.

Words crawl across the bottom of the screen. SCHOOL TRIP ENDS IN TRAGEDY.

A CNN reporter describes the scene. A school bus full of Haversmith seniors caught fire on its way out to town. Rescue crews are attempting to scour the wreckage for survivors, but so far all they've recovered are mangled, unidentifiable bodies.

The clip shifts. Haversmith's eight stories rise from a dense forest. Parents have swarmed the gates, some crying and pleading, or livid with rage. Others stand at the mob's edges, seemingly unsure how to react. Couples wring their hands and share nervous glances. Many of them bear close resemblance to the kids seated around me. I recognize Alaina's striking eyes as her mother shouts into the crowd, and Harper's father, who has her identical dark hair and eyes.

Another reporter contextualizes the tragedy and offers more current news. Twenty-nine of the bodies have been located and confirmed dead. Coroners are continuing to determine who has died and who, by any miracle, may still be alive. But the task is likely to take days or even weeks to complete.

The video skips ahead. Now, Simone's parents, according to the names printed at the bottom of the screen, are being interviewed.

The reporter asks a question off-screen. _What would you say to your child if they were here with you right now?_

The mother blows her nose loudly. "Simone, honey, we should have fit more time for you and each other into our hectic schedules, but we always thought there would be a better time." She sniffs and looks miserably at her husband, who steps forward to continue.

"Even when you broke into that car or were caught after burning down Emerson's bakery," he says, as his wife chokes back a sob, "we were too self-centered to realize that you just wanted some of our attention. Sending you to school so far from home felt like the best option to straighten you out, but in retrospect…" He coughs to attempt to cover a crackling in his voice. "We should never have let you out of our sight."

 _Why does that sound so familiar…?_

Simone gasps. "That was what you said in my letter last night… those were their exact words." A look of horror crosses her face. "They really think we're… dead…"

The scene transitions once more. Two anchors in a plain newsroom relate details about the school. How this investigation has uncovered serious and recent offenses within the school, most notably attempts to cover up four student deaths in the last two years. School officials are likely to be sentenced to years in prison on charges of negligence, fraud, and child endangerment. And the rumors are finally confirmed: the once world-renowned boarding school is being closed for good.

With that, the display fades to black.

* * *

 _You're not alone in anything  
_ _You're not unique in dying_

* * *

 **Jeremiah Whittaker.**  
 **Calgary, Alberta.**

* * *

Anabel is back within seconds.

"Chanel, honey, we reached an agreement. I promised I'd tell the truth about the school. And this is it. Haversmith is finally being held liable for offenses it's been attempting to cover up with money- blood money- for years. But the real reason it's closing?" She clicks her tongue. "That comes down to you all. Losing nearly half its graduating class to a tragedy caused by its own carelessness is just the final straw. And so I thank you all, sincerely, for helping to finally deliver justice for your institution's heinous crimes."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Chanel growls. "You're killing us!"

"Not _all_ of you," she corrects. "As I've said, one of you, should you choose to follow our guidelines and _not_ be blown to pieces, will be let free at the conclusion of the contest."

Her reasoning- in fact, everything she's said so far- is beyond comprehension. "Why are you doing this? What did we do to you?" I practically beg. "And why are you so against this place? You worked here. You seemed… happy."

"I've never had any tie to any of you, or to Haversmith's halls," she says, her expression darkening. "I came to this school last year for one purpose only: to wreak havoc. The rest, I knew, would fall into place. Haversmith is no longer quite the caliber of institution it was once known to be. Gabrielle. Brandon. Shane. Quincy. Yuto." Their heads jerk up. "You have no place in this school. You are incompetent students and unpleasant, obnoxious children who ought to have been expelled long before I ever stepped foot on this campus. But your families were always willing to pass over a pretty penny to keep you enrolled, and in turn, the review board turned its head. It wasn't hard to determine that this school was stunted and corrupt, nor to begin exposing it for its flaws. All that was needed was a suitable tragedy."

"Wait." I shake my head, hoping I'm not hearing what I think I am. "Are you suggesting that… maybe… _you're_ the reason those kids died this year? You had something to do with it?"

"Oh, I had everything to do with it," she smiles. "It's easier than you'd think to switch out a kid's prescription pills with something stronger. And as for the Archer boys, all it really took was a little tampering with the rock wall during the hour before class. You should have recognized my work, Harper, on the rock wall here at the edge of camp."

Harper doesn't seem to find this particularly funny. She glares at the despicable woman on-screen, but doesn't verbally lash out. Like me, I don't think she even knows the words to express her anger.

"But enough about me. We're all here for you, yes?" Anabel straightens her shoulders. "In case you're thinking somebody is coming to save you… you're all out of luck. There's no catch here, no flaw in our plans. No one doubts that at least twenty-nine of you are dead, much less your parents. You heard their words first-hand last night, yes?"

She turns to Griffin. "Oh, and Griffin, honey." Her voice, so affected and insincere, makes my stomach roll with nausea and hatred. Maybe not _pure_ hatred… but something close. Something more intense than I think I've ever felt before. "I'm sure your parents had all nice things to say about you, too. Unfortunately, they weren't immediately available for comment. We made a few other calls, and another family was quite eager to give their thoughts on you. That's just how things worked out for you."

"Bullshit," Griffin grumbles, from the far side of the room. "You could have reached Max and Camilla if you really wanted to. Instead, you made my private life public, when it was no one's business but my own. They have no place in my new life and I shouldn't be in theirs after what happened. You're sick."

"Hardly," Anabel says. "Attempting to hide from your reality is selfish. If a boy's going to be a potential hazard to his fellow classmates, I believe they deserve to know."

"But that's not your choice to make," I find myself saying. "Griffin's right. How could you blindside him like that? Not even that, but you put Trina in charge to, I don't know, be your pawn or something."

"Have you guys forgotten that we're about to fucking _die_ here?" Chanel interjects. "Like, sure, this is sad and all, but how much does it matter compared to us literally being murdered?"

As much as Griffin's betrayal bothers me, Chanel makes a fair point.

No one knows what to say for a good few moments.

Somewhat awkwardly, Dane clears his throat. "Maybe I'm being finicky," he starts, "but you said that _most_ of us would be released outside. To... fight each other. What about the others?"

Anabel smiles. "Thank you, Mr. Hanson, for listening so attentively. This brings us to our next course of events. You recall your fearless leaders, yes?" _Fearless? More like heartless._ "Baptiste-" She nods to the row on the far left of the room- "Sawyer, Milo, Giselle, Zara, and Rosalie?"

Freya's shoulders slump, and my heart drops. "Are you going to kill them, too?" she asks, her voice hinging on heartbreak.

"Of course not," Anabel chuckles. "No, no, they're on our side. In fact, nearly all of the adults you came into contact with over the last few days aren't really staff members. They're millionaires. And they're spending their money on _you._ Why bet on things so trivial as which horse can race the fastest when you can put your money on a kid to survive a death match?"

 _Death match_. Her words run frost-coated daggers through my chest. That's what this is. And what's worse, almost, is the reasoning. The rich, once more, are preying on the powerless. Turning a blind eye to the world's true problems so they can indulge in their own darkest desires. I'm caught in the middle of something I despise.

"You're sick," I repeat. For some reason, rather than buckling under all my fear, I feel… inspired. Fired up, even, and even more compelled to speak up. "This isn't fair. How can you just let this happen?"

"I'm offended that you think that's all I do, Mr. Whittaker. _Let this happen_ ," she sneers, mocking me. "I help call the shots. I have the utmost control over what can go down in the next seven days, and if you're hoping not to be targeted, you're not exactly helping your own cause right now. I'd suggest staying quiet, unless you'd like to get yourself killed before these Games even start."

Any comebacks I have drain from my tongue. Body trembling with fear and frustration alike, I force myself to be silent. I have to. If I want to survive…

No. This isn't about my survival. I'm not the one here who's most worthy of living to see the rest of her life. If I want to help anyone else survive, I need to be sure I live to get the chance.

"Now, we have a bit of a numbers problem," she continues, eyes scanning the room. "Thirty of you is simply _too_ many. With Benjamin and me taking command, and Kimiko doing God knows what, but inevitably sitting this one out… we have only twenty-four playing Benefactors. Which means we're going to have to narrow the field down before we can place any monetary bets. Numbers, see. Doubling up ruins the fairness of it all…"

I shouldn't be surprised by anything she says anymore. But every word shakes me to my core. _Narrowing down the field_ , in her terms, really means _killing six kids right now_. How should that be any more shocking than the initial news of our death? Is it because it's more immediate? Or was I foolishly holding onto some hope that, with time, we'd all forget about this insanity and continue on with our lives?

All the philosophy I've encountered- through essays and readings, through discussion, through my own quiet thought- couldn't really prepare me for knowing my death is coming soon. It's irrational to fear death, yes, but that concept always made more sense when it was metaphorically eyeing me through glass, naturally unavoidable yet forever distant.

"Just spit it out," Giles says, fed up by Anabel's stalling. "Who's going to die?"

There's a collective shuffling in our seats. The lights continue to hum.

The woman onscreen smiles. "On the right side of your chair should be a piece of paper and a pen. Please take these out and put them in front of you on your desk."

I stretch down for the materials, the movement complicated by my wrist chain and aching arms. Once I've secured them, I set them down and inspect the paper.

The bulk of the page is decorated by a grid of thirty faces, each labeled not by their name, but by a number. Under Quincy's portrait are the words MALE #1. Freya is listed near the middle, as FEMALE #10. Below each face, beside their label, is a checkbox.

Thirty faces. Thirty boxes. And a red pen, too slick for me to properly clutch.

As I'm about to make the connection, Jackson makes it for me, for once struggling to find words in his incredulity. "You mean… _we_ have to choose?"


	13. Living For Tomorrow- Bloodbath Part II

_It's on now, the days are long now  
_ _The ups and the sundowns, in a twisting mind_

* * *

 **Harper Robbins.**  
 **London, England.**

* * *

Jackson's words reverberate in my head. _We have to choose_.

Amidst the immediate chaos- essentially drowning in the others' shouting- I must seem like the calm one. But the reason I'm so still and quiet is that I'm frozen with terror.

Facing execution is one thing, but it's something else entirely to be causing it.

It takes a good few minutes before the room is forced into silence. I don't understand the cause of Trina's abrupt spasming or her shrieks of pain until a spark from her metal collar, biting into her neck as if it has teeth, snaps my attention away from the television screen.

She's not the only one to be shocked into submission, but being directly in front of me, her thrashing is the most obvious, and irritating. The abrasive clash of metal against her desk only exacerbates my building headache and the scratching sensation behind my eyes. But as much as I want to be far away from her, I can't exactly go anywhere. None of us can.

"I'd advise the rest of you," Anabel addresses us, her voice far more stern than before, "to not try to push your luck with your collars. Electric shocks are the least they're capable of, as you'll soon see. If you'd prefer to remain unharmed, I'd suggest keeping your head down, and focusing on deciding who you're going to vote for."

I look down at my paper. There's a good thirty of us, which should be enough options to find at least _some_ one I don't like. But the more I think about it, the more impossible this seems.

I barely know any of these people well enough to hold a conversation with them. How am I possibly supposed to know who deserves to live or die?

"The good news is, you only have to choose six people. The bad news is, we're on a _bit_ of a time crunch… so I'd like your decisions to be made within the next ten minutes."

Ten minutes… that's hardly any time!

"This may be easier for some of you than others," Anabel continues. "But consider your options. Surely, there are a few people here who've hurt you in the past, or even since coming to camp. A bully. A gossip, maybe. This would be your easiest excuse, and means, to seek revenge, given that your votes are both anonymous… and mandatory. In any case, it's your decision, and I'm not here to tell you how to make it. But you _must_ choose six people. Any fewer, and the difference will count against your own total."

I really have no choice. I'm being forced to pick who I want dead, or else, I'm essentially writing my own death sentence. There's no way around it.

A timer appears in the top corner of the screen, flashing numbers. _10:00_ _._ _9:59_ _._ _9:58_ _._ "Your time begins now," says Anabel, and all around me, the others rush to re-read their papers.

I blink, trying to shake my daze. Everything is happening so quickly.

 _Focus_ , I tell myself. _You have no choice. You have to do this._

Shivering, I glance away from the rapidly decreasing numbers on-screen— _9:53_ _,_ _9:52_ _,_ _9:51_ _—_ and stare down at my paper. GIRL #4, the header reads. Like I'm just a number. I guess that's all we're all good for in the end. Grades and incomes and body counts. Maybe I can convince myself that these faces are all just numbers in a game in which I have no emotional commitment. That has to be easier than recognizing the truth.

No. Who am I kidding? There's no _easy_ way to kill someone I've seen in the halls for four years. I truly don't think I can vote for anyone.

It's different from killing them outright. Of course, I don't really know. I suspect, if it came to it, I'd be physically better-prepared to withstand a fight than most of the girls here, and a good number of the boys, too. Regardless, that's the sort of thing that would depend on my own skill and choices, and I trust those enough. But I've never been good at making decisions for anyone besides myself.

Mentally, I scroll through the faces, trying to keep my breathing relatively even. I'm not really worried about being a target, nor do I think I should be nervous. Keeping to myself, and never trying to be someone I wasn't, should keep me relatively safe. Nobody will think to choose me. The negative side of this, of course, is that I don't exactly have enemies.

Quincy, Mariana, Blake, Juliet, and Jeremiah are the first five faces on my page. Not one of them deserves to die. But an idea crosses my mind that might make this voting possible for me. If I have to pick six, and I know I won't be able to choose fairly regardless… I have to do this mathematically. All I need to do is break them into groups of five, starting from the top, and pick one from every quintet.

Even then, it takes everything I have to faintly mark the box next to Quincy's portrait. He won't even know I voted for him. He'll just see a check mark. And that seems worse than the alternative, to be backstabbed and to never know who turned on him. But if anything has been established today, it's that nothing is ever going to be fair.

For a few minutes, my system works out. There's someone in every chunk who's either been excessively rude to me, or who I know has bullied someone else. Chanel earns my vote from the second group. Gabrielle is the easy choice out of the third quintet, while Shane takes a few minutes of internal debate for me to eventually check off. But the next group of Dane, Alex, Monica, and Gwen- I would be the fifth- stumps me.

I need to stick to my system. That's the only way I can finish this without being tempted to go back and scratch out all my previous choices. But I've never had any bad encounters with any of those four, and I'm not one to make a choice based on rumors or any sort of outside influence. This is my decision alone to make.

I find my eyes creeping down the list, to the last five: Seraphina, Giles, Trina, Nico, and Simone.

I know it's wrong to choose anyone based on temporary feelings, but maybe, I can make an exception. Maybe picking someone for being unpleasant is more fair than relying on numbers and the luck of who gets grouped with who. In any case, Simone and Trina have been far more rude and obnoxious than anyone from Dane's list. I would know. I had to room with them.

My check marks are imperfect, scrawled with shuddering fingers that can't be still. If I wanted to take my choices back, it'd be impossible. Crimson ink seeps into my paper, thick as blood.

 _Done._

I exhale. Tension leaches out of the muscles in my neck and shoulders. I'm not happy, but more so relieved.

There's nothing to do but wait out the last six minutes. Dropping my pen, I lean my chin on my free hand and watch the time fall away. _5:36_ _._ _5:35_ _._ _5:34_ _._

But the remaining time proves to be anything but peaceful. At 5:21, a panicked voice cries out from two rows over.

"You can't do this to me!"

* * *

 _If I've gotta go first,  
_ _I'll do it on my terms._

* * *

 **Shane Curran.**  
 **Toledo, Ohio.**

* * *

"You can't do this to me!" Giles howls.

I'm jerked from my thoughts. Next to me, Dane and Gabrielle swivel their heads in our direction. I turn around. Behind Monica, Giles seems panicked as he faces Doran. "You can't just do this!"

"What's going on?" I say to Monica, my voice low.

"I saw you check my name," Giles says, leaning over towards Doran. The other boy struggles to cover his page with his free hand. "I just want to know why. What did I do?"

"I just had to pick someone," Doran explains shakily. "It's nothing personal-"

"Nothing personal!" Giles scoffs. "This is entirely personal! And I deserve to know what I ever did to you, because I'm fairly sure that I've always been nice to you."

"Leave him alone," I growl. "It doesn't matter. It's one vote."

"As far as I know," he says, turning to me. Doran shrinks away. "But who's to say someone _else_ didn't just give me one vote?"

Giles surveys the room, glaring at anyone who meets his eyes. "The rest of you better not have picked me, 'cause I swear… I swear…" He shakes his head. "Look, I don't deserve this, okay? I can't die right now. I can't."

"Dude, get over yourself," Monica snaps. "No shit, you don't want to die. You think anyone else does?"

"You really want to argue with me right now?" He turns on her. "I've still got spots open. I won't hesitate. I'll check your name."

"You wouldn't," she says, but her eyes widen, registering his threat. "We were in a group together. You wouldn't-"

"Stop it!" I shout. "Stop fighting. Obviously this is impossible. Giles, you're only going to fuck yourself over by pointing fingers everywhere else."

"I'm not doing that. I'm just saying-"

"You are!"

"Shut up!" He groans, frustrated. "No one gets it! You think you do, but you don't. I haven't been home since Christmas. I haven't seen my parents in almost six months. I can't say goodbye to them. There's so much- so much- I'm never going to get to do if I die right here. There's so much that's going to be left unsaid and undone and I swear to God- if you vote for me over one of these fucking nobodies- then there's something seriously fucking wrong with you."

"Nobodies?" Monica repeats.

"Like him!" He gestures to Nico, sitting against the right wall. Nico blinks back. "Does anyone even know this kid? I mean, can anyone look at him and say, _Wow, I love this kid. He is just so funny and nice and relevant_ -"

"Hey, man," Nico tries to argue. "What did I do-"

"That's what we're all wondering. What _have_ you ever done here? What gives you a good reason to say you shouldn't get my vote?"

"Leave him alone," I say.

"But why not pick him?" Giles continues. "Does he even have a last name? Does anyone know? What I'm saying is that I'm friends with some of you. You'd regret killing somebody you knew. But if you just checked off someone you barely even thought about- barely even knew existed- I don't think it would even count."

No one else wants to defend Nico. As cruel as Giles is, they're being smart, protecting themselves by staying quiet and low, mulling over Giles' words. And he's right, in a way; it would make sense to vote for someone _I_ don't care about, but that gives me too many options.

The better choice is to vote for who no one _else_ cares about.

"You're right, Giles," I say. "You should vote for someone you don't care about. But not him." For a second, everything feels perfectly still. "Pick me."

" _You_?" Gabrielle asks.

Juliet shakes her head "Wait- you aren't actually- saying we should vote for you-"

"Yeah, I am."

"I can't just do that-"

"Yeah, you can. Check my name off-"

"Do you realize what you're saying?"

"I'm not retarded. You think I haven't thought long and hard about this? Giles was right. Pick someone you're not close to. Pick me. You aren't going to care if I'm gone."

I'm not looking for pity. I don't pity myself. If we're all going to be dead by the end of this hell fest anyways, I might as well just get it over with.

"You're an idiot if you think we don't care," Monica says. "Even if all those group things we did were bullshit, they had to mean something. I mean... I never would have talked to you before. Now I'm trying to defend you because- because I care! And I know the others care, too-"

"Nothing that happened this week mattered," I say, heat rising into my neck and cheeks. "You're trying to make it all mean something, but it was all a lie. All this fake-ass _bonding_ was a ruse. We aren't friends. Stop acting like it."

"Shane!"

"Why are you guys trying to fight me on this?" I shout, done trying to be patient. "You act like talking me out of this is, first of all, possible, and it's not. Secondly, you think you're all some sort of heroes for sticking up for me? You don't really care. Remember how it was all my fault we didn't have water the last few days? Be mad about that. Be mad about the fact that I'm the one who kept losing us our senior privileges back at school. Chances are I stole drugs off half of you. I wish I'd knocked you out, Quincy, when I had the chance, because I know you always hated me. Well, guess what? Here's your chance to get back at me. All of you. Stop trying to act all noble and just vote for me."

Blake tries to argue, but I cut him off, too. "What choice do you have? You can either kill me now, and be done with it, or wait and kill me in cold blood in the next few days. Pick your poison. And for fuck's sake…" I read the clock. _0:33_. "Do it fast. You're wasting your time."

Realizing that only half a minute remains, the others have no choice but to get back to their papers. Meanwhile, I lean back against my chair. The only vote I've made is for myself. That's a decision I don't regret for an instant.

 _This is how it was meant to be_ , I tell myself, watching the clock tick down the last few seconds. _0:03. 0:02. 0:01_.

 _If I'm going to go, it's on my own terms._

* * *

 _I'm tired of traitors always changing sides.  
_ _They were friends of mine._

* * *

 **Simone Collins.**  
 **Los Angeles, California.**

* * *

I've just finished marking my final two choices when the buzzer sounds.

Next to me, Freya shrieks. Shane just rolls his eyes. Personally, I'm over his act. I don't care if he asked for it. I only voted for him because I had no one better to pick.

I scan my choices one more time. _Gabrielle. Quincy. Chanel. Shane. Giles. Nico._

The first three were always cruel- either to me, or to my friends. I've never liked Giles- he's always so annoying, and greasy, and gross. And then, there's Nico, who's basically irrelevant. No one ever had any good dirt on him. So why should I even care about him?

A door in the corner opens, and a middle-aged man emerges. Aside from the dark, spotless suit he wears, everything about him is dull, from his plain brown hair to the expression with which he surveys the room. As he passes me, picking up the papers one-by-one, I kick my leg out into his shin. Immediately, he pulls a thin black remote from his pocket, jabbing it towards my neck. I shrink back, clearly outmatched. _Whoa._

Luckily, his motion is just a threat. But it serves its purpose by keeping everyone else in check. Aside from Mariana crying out as he pulls the paper from her desk- "I'm not done!"- the others are silent, not wanting to provoke him. Still, we're not useless. When he turns his back, a whole lot of middle fingers go up behind him.

Having finished his circuit, pages in hand, the man returns to the front of the room, and stacks the papers on the podium. He looks out at us. The room is eerily tense.

"Who are you?" Gerard says, before the man can begin.

"It doesn't matter who I am," he replies. "I'm only here to tally the votes, which is what you all should be more worried about."

"It's the least you can tell us," Gerard retorts, unperturbed. "It can't hurt to know. If you're going to kill us, we _deserve_ to know."

There are nods of agreement and some approving mumbles. But not too loud, not enough to draw individual attention like Gerard has.

"Benjamin Caville," the man finally says, to my surprise. "United States Secretary of Education."

"What are you doing at a private school?" Dane asks, before he can think.

A hint of a smile surfaces in the edges of Benjamin's cheeks. "Only looking," he says, and his expression returns to its stoic form. "Technically, there's nothing I _can_ do. But all that is necessary has been already taken care of… I'm here now to make sure this process goes as smoothly as possible. So shall we get down to business?"

It's clear his question isn't really a question. He taps the podium. Instantly, behind him, what I thought was a plain whiteboard lights up in a glaring fluorescent glow. Our faces fill the screen in three rows of ten. He taps the podium again, and Chanel's portrait enlarges.

"First up," Benjamin says, beginning to read from the first page. "Chanel Agresti. Votes for Wesley Byrne, Gabrielle Harman, Shane Curran, Trina Kellington, Giles Herring, and Simone Collins."

Screams erupt from all directions.

"You lied!" Alaina screams.

"You said this was anonymous!" Chanel shrieks.

"This is a joke, right?" I sputter, shocked. "Chanel, you fucking didn't-"

"Shut up!" the whore snaps. "What happened to this being all secret? I didn't even write my name-"

"You had your numbers at the top," Benjamin explains. "Even if you didn't know, _we_ did."

"That's not fair-"

"Wesley Byrne," Benjamin continues, his amplified voice drowning ours out. Unlike Anabel, he seems to want this over with as soon as possible. _Good_ , I think. _I can't wait to wring Chanel's neck for voting for me._ "Votes for Chanel Agresti, Quincy Stark, Gabrielle Harman, Giles Herring, Simone Collins, and Trina Kellington."

Twice in two people. _This is just a coincidence_ , I assure myself, ignoring my racing heartbeat. _Chanel's just a bitch. I never even liked Wes. I don't care what they think._

But as Benjamin goes down the list, the less I can assure myself it's all a mistake. Halfway through the papers, I allow myself to count the votes. Only three people have more votes than me: Quincy. Gabrielle. And Trina.

I have more votes than Giles. _Giles._ How embarrassing. Technically, he's up there, too, with enough points against him to be executed if we were to end the voting now. That hardly matters. _I'm_ in line to be killed, too.

It's when Mariana _fucking_ Brinley has the audacity to pick my name that I can't stay silent anymore.

"What did I do?" I beg her, everyone. Tears prickle at the edges of my vision. "I just wanted to be nice! You all were so nice… I didn't mean to do whatever it was…"

No one says anything.

"Well?" I snap. "Why do you all suddenly hate me?"

Alaina finally speaks up. "Simone, you have a huge mouth. People tend not to like it when you get into their business and spread it around."

My mouth opens, then closes.

"She's right, dude," says a voice next to me. I look over. Brandon just shrugs. _Asshole_. _Bitch._ _Fuck both of them._

I turn back to Alaina, a memory resurfacing. _Might as well go with it._ "Yeah, well people also tend to not like it when you cheat on them by fucking your roommate. But that didn't stop you, did it?

Alaina's jaw drops, her face turning pink. "That's… not true," she says, but the waver in her voice suggests otherwise.

Next to me, Brandon starts to chuckle. I glare at him. "This isn't funny. It's sick. You all voted for me and not this lying, cheating dyke-"

"Shut up!" Alaina shrieks.

"Stop it," Benjamin orders, but it's only through brandishing his remote again that he makes us fall silent. Still, I'm glaring daggers at her back. _She deserves to die. Not me_.

It's then that the reality of the situation strikes me. _Am I actually going to die?_

I shake the thought from my head. Impossible. The others, yes. But they don't have connections like I do. Once I'm out there, I'll find my way out. It's not a question of how, but when.

As for the others… I'm sure their funerals will be tragic and lovely. But I really can't afford to think of anyone else.

"Simone Collins," Benjamin reads again. My stomach lurches. I hadn't even been listening to who was voting.

Up on the board, another tally mark appears under my name. I don't let myself look long enough to count them.

Half the room still has to vote. _It's not over yet,_ I tell myself.

But another voice, small and meek, suggests the unthinkable. _Yes, it is._

* * *

 _See, now a starburst looks just like a blood orange  
Don't it just make you want to cry?_

* * *

 **Freya Pritchard.**  
 **Fairbanks, Alaska.**

* * *

"Blake Chapman," Benjamin continues. "Votes for Gabrielle Harman, Giles Herring, Simone Collins, Yuto Ebisu, Nico Marano, and Trina Kellington."

"I'm sorry," he says in a low voice, to nobody in particular.

Benjamin moves down our row, starting with my votes. I only chose Trina, Alaina, and Quincy, and I feel terrible for it. But I couldn't bring myself to vote for anyone else. No one should have to die.

Like me, Shane refuses to vote. Six marks appear next to his name. But he doesn't accumulate any more from our row.

"I told you to vote for me," he says after Juliet's votes are read. "Blake, you too. Giles, I thought for sure-"

"I couldn't," Blake says. "I know you think you deserve this, but you don't. I turned my back on you before. I can't do this again."

Shane shakes his head in disbelief, staring at the whiteboard. He has a fair amount of votes, but he's not the highest earner. Part of that is my fault. I couldn't pick him. We became close this week, and I can't understand how he could possibly want to die. Whenever I think about death… about this entire situation… I have to blink tears away. I want to be strong, but everything is so terrifying.

But not for Shane. "Fine," he spits. "Fine."

I turn around as much as I can. His face reads all resolve, but it's flushed with anger. "If you all aren't going to honor my last fucking wish, I'll just do this myself."

His fingers clench around his collar, knuckles whitening. He starts to pull.

"No!" Monica screams from behind him.

"Shane!" Benjamin bellows.

 _What? What is he doing?_

Shane's collar beeps more and more frantically, flashing red and white until its pitch is nearly a static whine.

"Get down, Freya!" Shane yells. The urgency in his voice tells me I don't have time to try to figure out why. I throw my head down against my desk, covering my head and ears with my arms.

Directly behind me, something explodes.

There's muffled screaming and an immediate stink of smoke, blood, and something burning. Only when I turn back around- slowly, carefully, my ears ringing as a result of the fracturing sound- do I realize what just happened.

There's a gaping hole in Shane's neck, charred flesh lining the edges of the wound. Blood drenches everything around him- the rest of his body, the desk, and the ground. Crimson is splattered onto Gerard, Simone, and Gabrielle, and flecks stain as far as the walls. Dane has droplets in his hair. Crimson streams from Shane's front and down to the floor.

Nausea wracks my stomach, and I put a hand over my mouth to keep from gagging. I have to look somewhere, anywhere else. But not at him. Not at his… his body.

But he can't be _dead._ Death isn't real. Death's not supposed to be something you face until you're old and sick. And then, it's inevitable. Here? Now? It's impossible that Shane could just be… dead. Without any warning.

Shane's not the only one injured by the blast. Behind him, Monica lays slumped over her own desk. Blood sticks in her hair, but I can't tell if it's hers or Shane's.

"Monica?" Eimer ventures.

Nothing.

Giles presses a hand to her shoulder, gently shaking her. "Monica. Mon."

"Don't shake her like that!" Juliet says, eyes wide.

"I'm just trying to see if she's breathing!" he shouts.

Silence. Ringing silence. And a pattering tap-tap of blood as it drips from the puddle on Shane's desk onto the floor.

Slowly, Monica stirs. "Fucking… hell," she groans, and grips at her head.

Everyone wants to look at her. Nobody wants to face the real issue, which is Shane's lifeless body.

"Monica, are you alright?" Gerard asks.

"Fine," she grumbles, though she looks anything but. Her skin is clammy and just as grey as the surrounding room. "I'm just fine."

Her gaze lifts to meet the back of Shane's head, which lolls back at an angle too extreme for a neck that's fully intact. She swallows roughly. "But Shane…"

Benjamin clears his throat. He seems to be avoiding looking at our corner of the room, and his lips open as if he wants to say something, but can't. "Well…" he starts, but can't finish his thought.

Something buzzes faintly at the front of the room. Mr. Caville taps his earpiece and listens to a silent speaker on the other end. "Right," he says moments later, his shoulders straightening again. "Mr. Curran's… premature… execution means only the first five vote-earners will be eliminated. The rest of the voting shall continue as planned."

It doesn't seem right that he should be so calm about this. Shane- who I only really knew for a few days, but feel like I could still have become friends with back at school- was just killed. He's gone. And Mr. Caville wants to pretend like it never happened.

"You should wait," I say, tears welling into my eyes. "Shane deserves more respect than that." I can feel twenty-nine pairs of eyes trained on me. "You can't keep going without giving him at least some time."

"We're on a tight schedule, Miss Pritchard-"

"Can't it wait?"

"Frey…" Jeremiah gives me a warning glance. _But why?_ "It's okay. We have to let it go."

"I don't understand."

"I know." He shakes his head softly. "I'm sorry. Just trust me."

Mr. Caville rustles the stack of the remaining pages, slimmer now that two-thirds of the votes have been counted. "Simone Collins," he reads. "Votes for Gabrielle Harman, Quincy Stark, Chanel Agresti, Shane Curran, Giles Herring, and Nico Marano."

I lay my head back down on my desk, sobs rising up in my throat as much as I try to force them down. I don't know why this is happening to us. I don't understand why I can't stand up for Shane. All I can do is cradle my head in my arms, and hope that miraculously, I'll wake up from this nightmare somewhere far away, and all of us will be safe and sound.

* * *

 _Don't hang around once the promise breaks_  
 _Or you'll be there when the next one's made_

* * *

 **Trina Kellington.**  
 **Barnard, Vermont.**

* * *

Every time I try to steady my breathing, my chest heaves and shudders. Bile stings in the back of my mouth. _Shane is dead. Shane is dead. Shane is dead._

 _And I could be next_.

The only hope I have- the only thing that's keeping me from having a full-blown panic attack right now- is the hope that Anabel can keep her promises.

 _I did tell Trina that... I'd reward her for her loyalty_. That's what Anabel said. I replay it again and again, trying to keep my mind off of the dead boy just two desks away. Replaying it, reanalyzing it. Does any of that suggest that she won't save me? Is there any chance I'm getting the wrong message?

I need her support right now. After seeing what was done to Shane… I can't go through that myself. I really can't.

Harper's votes are the last to be read. After her choices appear, the faces on the board vanish. Five reappear, larger and in the middle of the screen- the leading vote-getters. Quincy. Simone. Nico. Giles.

And me.

My heart lurches as the screen lights up. Anabel is back. _Just in time,_ I think desperately.

Benjamin steps away from the podium. He looks us all up and down, as if he isn't really sure what to do with us. "Be strong," he finally says. "This is going to be the hardest thing you're ever had to go through. There is no way to avoid that. But believe in yourselves, and be brave. It's all going to be okay."

And then he's gone, slipping back through the door he came from.

I feel like I'm going to throw up. I look up at Anabel, praying my expression reads my clear desperation. _Help me._

With a click, the shackles slide off my wrist and ankles.

I rub my wrist gratefully. _I'm free_ , I think. That's when I see that only four others have been freed.

"Would the five of you- Miss Kellington, Mr. Stark, Miss Collins, Mr. Herring, and Mr. Marano- please make your way up to the front of the room."

I don't follow them.

"Miss Kellington?"

"You said you'd reward me," I say.

"Reward you?"

"For… for saying what I did about Griffin."

She tilts her head, mockingly entertaining the notion. "I'm afraid I don't remember."

 _You should have known_ , I taunt myself. _No one would ever have your back. Not when you've backstabbed time and time again_.

But I refuse to believe it. "You said it not half an hour ago," I say, aware of a crackling in my throat and fighting deperately to keep it down. "You promised me. You _promised me_ -"

"You were played, Miss Kellington-"

"Call me by my fucking name!" I nearly scream, tears swelling into my vision. "None of this _Miss Kellington_ bullshit. It's Trina. Say my name, you coward!"

"I was never going to save you." She smiles sadly, like she cares. "You did a terrible thing. You've always acted horrible to those around you, and that had to catch up with you."

"No," I beg. "No, no, no…"

Desperately, I make eye contact with Griffin. Unlike before, he matches my gaze, not looking away. "Help me," I beg. "She made me! She _made me_ say it!" Tears are splitting my vision, and I throw up a hand to wipe them away. To keep myself from wailing. "Anabel, she told me... she threatened... please, I never meant to hurt you. Or anyone. Griffin!"

But his face is hardened. He turns away.

"Griffin, please," I sob. "I never meant any of it…"

"Miss Kellington, please come up to the front."

My legs start shaking so badly when I try to stand that I crumble against the side of my desk. But if I refuse to move, my throat will be blasted out right where I am.

I have to move if I want to die with any dignity at all.

I must be dragging myself forwards, but an instant later, my trembling body stands at the front of the room.

"Let these students be the example," Anabel says, her voice sturdier and more intense, booming through the speakers. In a combination of terror, dizziness, and nausea, I sink to my knees. "They stand here before you because they have failed you in some way. They have hurt you, or bullied you. Or they have been irrelevant, contributing nothing to your school or your society. Let these students be the example…" I can almost hear her snaky smile slithering back into her face- "of who you _don't_ want to be."

My collar begins to rattle. My heart pumps so rapidly I can feel it across every inch of my body.

Quincy tries to make a break for it, sprinting first to the door Benjamin came from, then to the far door. Neither of them budge. He pulls against the handles, trying to force them to open. Instead, he slides helplessly to the floor.

The beeping below my ears is deafening. _This is what terror is. This is knowing that nobody is going to save you._

 _You deserve this_ , a friendly voice reminds me. _You're a terrible person, and you always have been. Just accept that you've earned what's about to come to you._

The sad thing is, I know I'm right. I don't even try to fight it anymore.

The end is so, so near. The beeping becomes suffocating. The vibrations cut into my neck. _Just get it over with,_ I beg, but I have too much time. In those last seconds, I see the faces of all those who surely hate me.

But they don't look furious. They just look sick.

Directly in front of me, Dane is pale and shaking. Freya rocks back and forth, her hands over her ears. Grim's expressionless gaze sends chills up my neck. Tears stream down Jeremiah's cheeks.

A small hand presses into mine. Simone stares down at me, her eyes glazed over with tears. "Bye," she whispers.

The beeping reaches a static note.

The second before the pain hits, I squeeze her hand.

* * *

 _We'll welcome the new age, covered in warrior paint_

* * *

 **Gabrielle Harman.**  
 **Stockton, California.**

* * *

I should have looked away. I didn't.

Shane's death had little impact on me. Then again, I only saw the aftermath, and I've never been bothered by much gore. To be fair, I'm typically the one causing it.

But to watch five people's throats get ripped out at once… it's far too much to handle.

Their necks burst open like crimson fireworks. Screams and wails fills my ears from all directions.

I don't scream. Bile rises up in my throat, and gagging, I lean over and heave my dinner from last night. It tastes no different coming back up than it did going in.

Quincy lies in a pool of his own blood at the corner of the room. Nico and Giles have sunk to the floor, in messes just as gory.

Simone's hand, limp, slides from Trina's grasp as they tumble face-first to the floor.

I can't avoid staring straight at Shane's body as I unsteadily sit back up, and I nearly retch again. _Get yourself together!_

But it's not so easy. I realize there's blood all over me. It's splattered on my face, and I blink droplets from my eyes, taste it on my teeth, mixed vilely with the acid in my mouth.

My head throbs and my ears rush from the blast. But a few side effects are far better than the alternative.

To my left, Freya is crying openly. She's not the only one, either, but she's closest to me. I turn, ready to tell her off. Then I realize the significance of what I'm about to do.

Trina just _died_. Simone is dead. Quincy, and Giles, and Nico are dead on the floor. And Shane essentially took his own life. I have no right to snap at someone for crying about it.

Up on the whiteboard, the votes read in order. I would have been sixth. If it weren't for Shane, I would be dead right now, too.

No wonder. No wonder I was picked. I was just about to snap at a girl for crying after six people died.

What is _wrong_ with me?

I can't focus on a word Anabel's saying. But as soon as I feel the shackles detach from my ankles, instinct takes over, and I'm on my feet.

I don't quite make it to the door. A jolt of pain spasms across my body. I try to fight it, but I can't control my legs. I tumble to the floor, twitching, just feet away from where Quincy lies.

"I will repeat myself," Anabel says, her unforgiving voice sounding distant in my roaring ears. "When you are released, you will move in an _orderly_ fashion to the front of the room-"

"And just step all over their dead bodies, I'm assuming?" I practically spit. My body aches, but it's worth the new shock I receive for my comment, even if it nearly makes me groan out loud.

" _Listen_ to me." Anabel has become far less forgiving. "You and your group will _not_ fight back against your leaders, who will collect you and take you outside for transport. If you do, we will not hesitate to shock you again- or worse."

A few feet in front of me, the door through which Benjamin entered and exited opens again. Pairs of feet stomp into the room. Someone's fingers reach down gently, lifting my arm, but I yank my hand away. Even though my body trembles with the effort, I clamor back to my feet on my own will.

I vaguely recognize several of the people from camp. Two are Milo and Giselle, the latter of whom reached to help me. I don't look at her. I just stagger over to the rest of the kids, seething.

 _Collecting_ us turns out to involve a lot less hand-holding and a lot more handcuffing than the name suggests. Before I know it, I'm back to confinement, cold metal digging into the sensitive indentations in my wrists. A rough hand presses into the small of my back, urging me forwards towards the door. I try not to gag as I step over Quincy, his blood slicking the sides of my shoes.

Outside, the cold air bites at my bare arms, but we don't walk through the dark for long. I'm quickly pushed into the back of a van and into a seat on the side.

People fill in around me. My group and Giselle's group. There should be ten of us, but by the time the van doors are closed and I can get a good look at the people around me, I count only eight including myself.

Right, because Shane and Giles are dead.

"Buckle up, kids," our driver, unseen, snarls. "Hate for anything to happen to you on the way in."

"Where are we going?" I ask, knowing full well I'll never get a real answer.

"You'll see soon enough," he says. "For now…. sit back, try to relax, and enjoy the next fifteen minutes." He chuckles, and the van rumbles to a start. "They'll likely be the last peaceful ones you're ever gonna get."

* * *

 _You're not alone in anything  
You're not alone in trying to be._

* * *

 **Brandon Prescott.**  
 **San Francisco, California.**

* * *

There's seven of us in the van.

To my right: Griffin, Gerard, and Harper.

Directly across from me: Yuto.

Next to him, and clearly avoiding my stare: Alaina and Eimer.

I sigh, turning to stare out the window, only to find that they're completely blacked out.

No one wants to talk. Even if we did, what would we say? There's nothing that can sufficiently fill the silence that won't just make everything worse.

I think I'm going crazy. Something in seeing the others die must have completely fucked me up, because I actually find myself hoping to hear Simone aggressively whispering something in Alaina's ear. Or Trina saying something bitchy and passive-aggressive. Nico… I don't know. He wouldn't really be saying anything, if he were here. I guess that's why I voted for him, because I can't really tell when he's here and when he's not.

They don't feel dead to me. Not the way they should. We left them so quickly that it feels like they're all still in that room, distant but still alive, just left in the past. I let that thought linger. It's much easier to stomach than the truth.

Minutes drag on in silence. But eventually the van shudders, slowing down. I'm the first on my feet, balancing against the side wall as the vehicle comes to a stop.

The back doors are thrown open. Two adults hop up into the back. I don't catch much of the darkened landscape outside beyond a few shadowed trees because as soon as the man and woman are inside, they slam the doors shut.

"Turn," the woman says to me. Facing the wall of the van, I feel a rattling on my wrists, and the handcuffs release. I rub my wrists, a little peeved despite everything. _Kinky…_

One by one, she unlocks each of our handcuffs. Once liberated, Gerard seems to be the first to realize the extent of the situation, his features contorted with clear nerves. Alaina, trying to mask her fear, forces her expression to remain neutral. Only Harper looks convincingly unbothered.

When our hands are freed, the man picks up one of the packs from the pile at his end of the van. He heaves it to Griffin, who doubles over from the impact. "These bags," he announces, tossing the next one to Alaina, "contain your basic necessities. Some food. Water. A weapon."

Eimer cringes at that. I almost grin before I remember where we are. _Focus._

"You won't know what you'll get until you're out there. Then you'll have a variety of other equipment. Someone might have rope, while someone else has medical supplies. This is the only advice I'll give you: you may be writing off the idea of having allies, but you may want that added protection, and the combination of your supplies may be easier than working alone. At least consider it."

A bag comes sailing my way. Instinctively, I catch it in one hand. _Too easy_ , I muse.

As another pack flies into Harper's arms, I catch Griffin staring. My smirk freezes on my face.

 _We both need allies,_ I realize. And, besides me, he's by far the most physically competent person in this van.

 _Except._ Except I don't- can't- trust him. If he's truly capable of turning on someone who trusts him, on threatening their life- God forbid Trina may actually have saved me for this- I can't risk it.

I'd really hate to go down from being stabbed in the back, especially when I'm such a clear favorite to win.

I turn away.

"You'll also find watches in your packs," the man continues, lifting his arm to display the device clamped around his wrist. "They may seem unnecessary, but I'd recommend holding onto yours. They may be more valuable than you think." He looks to his partner, who nods, her face stoic and unreadable. "For safety's sake, however, I wouldn't suggest getting a good look at anything until you've put enough distance between yourself and your competitors."

They push the back doors open again, and cool air rushes into the stuffy van. My stomach drops. _This is happening already?_

"Wait, that's it?" Alaina says quickly. "I mean, isn't there anything else you should tell us to- to prepare us? Anything?"

"Not much," he says, pulling Gerard's arm. The boy uncertainly jumps down. "Just stay within the boundaries-"

"There are boundaries?" I ask.

"You'll see," is his only clarification, as he shoves Alaina out of the van. "If you try to escape, we'll know. You're being tracked at all times. So stay on the mountain. And at all costs, do _not_ allow more than one person to be alive by next Friday night, exactly one week from now. This is the name of the game. If you want to live, you have to take life. There's no escaping it."

I'm the last one out of the van. Even though his words make my heart drum in my chest, I don't give him time to grab me, coolly stepping down onto the soft pine needles littering the floor.

They slam the doors shut and return to the front of the van.

"Wait!" Alaina shouts again. "I'm not ready for this!"

"Then I'd suggest you _get_ ready," he says, climbing into the driver's seat. The engine roars to life, spitting smelly exhaust and dust in our faces. "You really don't want to seem like the weak link in a place like this."

His door slams shut. Gravel crackles under the tires, and we watch the van curl through the trees, its headlines vanishing in the black night.

They leave us in a dead silence. Our surroundings are bathed in shadow, but judging by the thick tree cover extending as far as I can see, dense forest is all there is for miles. There's truly no way out.

Wide eyes gleam bright in the darkness, shifting from one face to the next. Each glance silently asks the impossible questions: _Where do we start? What the hell are we supposed to do?_

 _And who's going to be the first to strike?_

* * *

 **Ladder Song by Lorde; This Is Not A Game by The Chemical Brothers.**

* * *

 **30th: Shane Curran. _Executed.  
_ 29th: Quincy Stark. _Executed.  
_ 28th: Giles Herring. _Executed.  
_ 27th: Simone Collins. _Executed.  
_ 26th: Trina Kellington. _Executed.  
_ 25th: Nico Marano. **_**Executed.**  
_

* * *

 **So, I changed the order a bit. Sue me. Back in August of 2016, when Corey gave me some of the notes he had and general plot points, Shane was always going to choose his own death by telling the others to vote for him. Actually, all the deaths this chapter, as well as the general premise of everyone voting and their reasons for it, were decided by him way back when. So gotta shout him out for that.**

 **Obviously this took a while to come up, but hopefully 12,000+ words should tide any of you loyal readers over for a little while. College began the last week of September, and it's kind of been one L after another since then, so that's awesome. Luckily I think I slayed my midterm today, but I got two more next week for two classes I lowkey hate, so send some good vibes my way, yeah?**

 **Benefactors are coming _next_ chapter. It didn't make sense to reveal them now and squeeze one more POV in when I can just add it in at the beginning next time. Oh, and if you haven't been on my profile in a while, there's a new link up. There's now a Spotify playlist for this story (yes, I'm that extra) and I think it fits the vibe pretty well. Go give it a listen when you have the time (and listen in order!).**

 **That's all for now. Hope everyone's looking forward to a good chill November. Oh, and Happy Halloween!**


	14. In the Darkest Woods

_From highway seas and thunder skies  
_ _We see our fate, you hear our cries._

* * *

 **Dane Hanson.  
** **Springville, Utah.**

* * *

Of course I know it's impossible that someone might come back for us. That they'd come back laughing at us and giving us some garbage about taking this so seriously, although if I hadn't seen what they just did to six of us I wouldn't put prank-pulling past them. They won't return, so why do we all stare pleadingly after the van? Why does it matter where it's going if we know it's never coming back?

Gravel crackles from somewhere behind me. I turn to see Mariana having sunk to the ground, kneeling defeatedly. "This… this _isn't_ happening," she whines. "Pinch me. I'll wake up, won't I? And this won't be real?"

Gabrielle scoffs. "Fucking grow up. You know damn well this is real."

"Hey, don't be so hard on her," Jeremiah says, stepping in. Though his voice is steady, his eyes glow wide in the darkness, betraying his otherwise cloaked panic. "It's been a really terrible night."

"Yeah, we all saw them die," she says, her tone icy. "And, you know what? More people are going to die, so the faster you can accept that, the faster you can put yourself in a position _not_ to be one of them." She strings an elastic around her tangled hair and snaps it taut. " _I'm_ not going to be stuck crying when my survival is on the line."

There's a clattering of material, zippers clanging against the metallic shell of a hollow water bottle, as she hoists her pack onto her shoulders. I'd almost forgotten about my own. Even now, I wonder how significant it could really be. Is anything in there going to be enough to keep me alive for a week? Or to fend off anyone else?

"Wait," Jackson says. "You can't just leave!"

She's already running, auburn hair twisting around behind her.

"Gabrielle! We need a plan! Come back!"

Within seconds, her heavy footfall fades into the night. I'm too aware of the heavy breathing all around me, of my pulse drumming in my ears.

Gabrielle is gone. Envy pinches in my chest. Her move may have been selfish, but for her, it was the right one. No one wants to risk going after her in case we lose the rest of the group. In any case, it's probably best to have her as far away from us as possible. That's one person who I wouldn't put it past to rip my throat out for no reason.

Still, her bailing proves how quickly things are going to move out here. Panic and indecision only last so long. I know that much. I know that, within a few minutes, everyone is going to decide to either figure out how to swallow their fear and try to survive this, or give in to their emotions. For me, every minute I can stay ahead of them counts.

Doran jumps when I grab his arm. "We're going," I say.

"Now?"

"Well, it seems as good a time as any, doesn't it?"

"No one else is leaving!" Jackson clamps his hand around my other wrist and doesn't yield when I try to yank it away. "No, the rest of us are sticking together. Splitting up is the easiest way to get ourselves killed."

"Says who? What makes you the survival expert?" Audrey snaps.

"It's common sense," he replies. "We don't know what any of the other groups are planning, and I really don't want to take a chance on being overrun by a larger group. I think it's smart to be conservative here."

"And I think it's smart to be realistic," I say calmly, even though he's really grating on my nerves. "Look around. This just isn't a group that's going to work out in the long run. The only actually intimidating person we had just bailed on us. Technically, Jeremiah, or Blake…" My stomach drops when I realize I can't locate Blake in the dimness. "Blake?"

Silence.

"Oh, you're joking," I mutter.

"I was standing right next to him," Madison says. "I swear, I never heard him leave."

Jackson is unrelenting. "Well, we have to go try to find him!"

"Forget it!" I say. "The chances of us finding him out here are slim to none." Judging how emotional Blake's been, it's probably safer not to cross paths with him, either. "Look, that's two already gone. Eight is still far too many people to manage, especially in a place like this. Believe me, the sooner we split, the better."

"This _will_ work, as long as we let it," he says, eternally optimistic, and eternally incorrect. "We'd be so much more powerful as a group. We'd have each other's backs. On your own, you're an easy target."

"But no one's going to turn on you," I say, partly hoping he senses my threat.

He doesn't bite. "Look, no one said anything about turning on each other-"

"It's inevitable!" I say, finally fed up, wondering why I've wasted my time with this argument when I could be moving right now, far from Jackson's arrogance and unmerited condescension. "Gabrielle knew what she was talking about. We can't pretend that this is just some joke anymore. People have died. People are going to keep dying. If you want to live, you're going to have to make choices of who you want to keep close. Plain and simple, this group won't last. I'm not going to stick around to see it fall apart." This time when I pull, Jackson releases my wrist. "Let's go," I say to Doran. "Grab your stuff."

As he pulls his pack up to his shoulder, I look around. My eyes latch on Jeremiah's. I certainly know Doran better- and trust him more- but it crosses my mind that he alone won't be enough to protect me.

I could use another ally, and if anyone here can pull his own weight, it's him.

"Jeremiah." His head jerks up. "Are you coming with us?"

He scans the rest of the group, weighing the theoretical security of a larger group with the rationality of separating himself for his own protection.

Slowly, he pulls his pack up and over his shoulders.

"Jeremiah!" Jackson bellows.

"It's... best this way," he says, his eyes narrowed in pain.

There's silence as he comes to stand with me. I can read the hurt on Madison's features, the grief in Mariana's. Even Jackson looks less furious than distressed, and it crosses my mind that this could be the last time I speak to them, the last time I ever see them alive. My heart swells in my throat.

But there's no time for compassion. No time for faith. Because every second I hesitate, I put myself in unnecessary danger. I can't risk my own life trying to save anyone else's.

"Come on," I say, and pull my two allies forward with me into the woods.

* * *

 **Mariana Brinley.**  
 **Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.**

* * *

I've never felt so powerless.

I'm not strong enough for this, not strong enough to cope with this terrible dread coursing through my body. I've never had to handle a life outside my idyllic, contented dreamworld, and I simply don't know how.

I don't want to get to my feet.

"You're the one who said we needed to stick together!" Alex yells at Jackson. Amidst the swirling in my head, I hear them as if from underwater.

"That was before half of us broke off!"

"What happened to wanting numbers?"

"Okay, do you want to know the truth?" Jackson throws his hands up. "I don't want to deal with you and Audrey on my own. I know there's something going on between you two and I can't let that get in the way of us trying to stay alive!"

Alex flushes, narrowing his eyes, but doesn't say anything.

"She's going to slow us down," Jackson continues. "Just admit it. She isn't going to help us in the long run."

"Excuse you?" Audrey says. "What do you know about any of this?"

Alex raises his voice above hers. "Since when was this an _us_ decision, Jackson?"

"Since you decided you want to give survival a chance," Jackson says coolly, ignoring Audrey altogether.

They stare at each other for a long moment, before Alex throws his hands up. "Fine. Then we'll leave her. Since apparently it's your say above everyone else's."

"I'm just being rational here, Grim," Jackson says. "Not trying to control you."

"Fuck both of you," Audrey snaps. "I didn't want to be in your stupid alliance, anyway. You can go fuck yourselves."

Alex huffs and tosses his bag over one shoulder. For a second, he turns to look at her. She just shakes her head.

He turns around and follows Jackson into the darkness.

Someone taps me on my shoulder, and I jump. It's just Madison. She reaches a small hand out, and I wrap my fingers around it. She tugs me to my feet.

Audrey kicks her pack, sending it spinning in the dust.

"Hey." Madison says, her voice low. "Forget them. They're idiots."

"At least you're worth their time to argue over," I grumble, despite myself.

Audrey rolls her eyes, but steps on her pack instead of kicking it again. "I don't care. Like I said, I don't want to be stuck with them for the last few days of my life, anyway. God, could you imagine?"

Madison cracks a smile, but I don't find Audrey's words comforting at all. They're just another reminder of how real this is- how imminent death is. And how painful it must be. I shiver.

"Do we have a plan?" I ask, trying to get my mind off of the unthinkable.

"Well, since everyone else decided to ditch us-" Madison shrugs. "I'm pretty sure we have this neck of the woods to ourselves, so I feel pretty safe staying here for the time being. I'm in no hurry to go anywhere until we at least figure out what we have at our disposal."

Audrey and I just nod; she seems to know what she's doing. I'm glad at least one of us can keep her head.

We sit down right where we are and unzip our packs, and Audrey pulls a pen light from her bag, allowing us to see what we've been provided with.

A thick grey school sweatshirt is rolled up at the top of mine, one of those old battered crewnecks they made us wear during P.E. I wrinkle my nose; of course, they'd give us dirty ones. I slip it over my head. It's a little big, but it's cold out, and I'm in no place to be picky about my appearance. Still, I feel a little better after I roll the sleeves up a few times.

I pull packages of beef jerky, Kirkland trail mix, and granola bars from my pack, then a small first aid kit, stocked only with the basics- some band-aids, disinfectant, a coiled Ace bandage, tape, and a small pair of tweezers. I have iodine droplets, but no water bottle. A C-clip, a lighter, and, lucky enough, a pair of sunglasses. I try them on for size. They'll do, although they're nothing near as stylish as my Ray-Bans back home.

Home. It's never felt more distant than now. What I would give to see my sisters again, my mother. Of course, Father wouldn't be around, but it would be enough.

I felt so safe at home, so untouchable. Nothing bad could ever happen to me there. Nothing would have happened if I hadn't had to come to school in New Hampshire. But it's what we all were meant to do, my sisters and me. We couldn't stay at the estate forever.

But how I wish I could. How I wish for just one more quiet afternoon there, sitting in the window seat that overlooked the yard- overgrown in all the best ways, with ivy mounting our white painted fences, and trees shrouding the back garden. A vanilla candle would flicker from the table as I'd flip through an old novel, my worries confined to the cares of the characters in my hands.

It feels like it could have all been an illusory dream; I don't understand how such lovely and such terrible ways of life could coexist. We've spent less than a week here, but only the woods feel real anymore.

Audrey coughs. I look up to see her smirking. "It's, like, 4 in the morning. You look ridiculous."

I reach up to pull my sunglasses off, revealing my bloodshot eyes. Her smirk falls off her face.

"I'm sorry. It just looked-"

"I know," I sigh. "Forget it."

Neither Audrey or Madison say anything else, and I'm grateful. Because I couldn't begin to describe to them how much I ache, how deeply I miss my home.

Why couldn't I have appreciated things while I had them? Now, everything I've ever loved is gone.

And it's only a matter of days before I am too.

* * *

 **Blake Chapman.**  
 **New York City, New York.**

* * *

The rhythm of my feet against the hard soil drowns out all thoughts.

It's been a long time since the burning in my calves gave way to bliss, to something wonderful and cathartic. Running has always done this for me; morning runs were always one of my favorite parts of football, even when the boys would give me shit for admitting it.

And, really, how different is it? Running to put distance between yourself and the other team, and running to put distance between yourself and, well… murderers? Maybe they're not yet. Not really. But we all played roles in the deaths of our classmates. Of Trina, Giles, Simone, Nico, Quincy, and Shane. How long has it been since they were alive? Three hours? Four at the most?

I don't stop running until I see water. A pond, its surface glassy and pink with the glow of the sunrise, stretches out before me. The edges of the mountains burn rose and lilac purple above the water.

I stretch my legs out in front of me on the water's edge, feeling instant relief as I lengthen my calves and hamstrings. My pack rests in front of me, in between my legs, and I unzip each pocket one by one.

There's nothing in the smaller pockets, but they'll be useful for organization later. Everything seems to have been crammed into the largest section of the pack, with no care for order. Once I see what's inside, I'll get to rearranging.

I start by pulling a water bottle off the top. It's empty, predictably. Luckily, I'm right next to an abundant water supply. Out of the tree cover, there's enough natural light for me to read the small package hooked to the lid. _Portable Aqua- Water Purification Technology. Easy To Use!_

I almost chuckle at how ridiculous it is for them to give us tablets that will keep us from getting sick, when their end goal is to see us all dead. Still, I can't help but feel a little grateful that I'll be able to stay hydrated out here, especially after such a long run.

Water is my very first priority, now that I know how to get it. I remove my shoes and socks and wade into the water, filling the bottle to the top. Back at my bag, I let my legs dry before putting my shoes back on. I️ scan the water purifying label and follow the directions for cleaning it.

As parched as I am- my throat feels more ragged every minute- I know not to rush into drinking dirty water, so I set my bottle aside. While I wait, I finish sorting through my bag.

There's a grey sweatshirt thrown inside that smells a little musty. My heart skips. It's a Haversmith Athletics sweatshirt, the type I wore almost every day freshman year, so excited to finally be on a real sports team. I eventually graduated to personalized team gear, but I've kept all my old team clothes for the sake of nostalgia.

I pull the sweatshirt out of my pack, uprooting a few bags of trail mix, and lift it up and over my head. It's softer than mine back at school, less worn and definitely less washed. It makes me feel safe, even in the middle of the woods.

I set the trail mix aside to categorize with the rest of my belongings: matches, bandages, extra socks, and a pack of beef jerky. The jerky and the trail mix are all the food I've been given. All that remains in the bag are a small black pouch, and a gun.

Sleek and silver, it's no sizable weapon. But if I have to defend myself, I could use it. I don't want to, though. Looking at it reminds me of Shane and the others, how their blood is on our hands. How, by the end of this week, we'll all be murdered, or murderers. Some of us will be both. I pack the gun back in my bag so it's easily accessible, but still out of my sight.

That just leaves the pouch. The material stretches and releases a thick black watch. Curious, I fiddle with the buttons on the side, and the screen comes to life. It's unlike any watch I've ever owned, as the screen is bulky and rectangular, almost the size of a phone. Even stranger, the display shows not an analog display, but a map.

Blue areas dot the otherwise green landscape- ponds and rivers, I assume. A simple black dot marks the edge of one of the ponds. When I tap it, it expands, pulling up a new page. My face stares back at me. _Blake Chapman_ , it reads. It gives no other information.

I tap the screen again, and my image fades. I drag my finger around the map, surveying the other physical features. If I drag too far, the green fades to shaded grey, and eventually won't scroll any further- there are definitely boundaries, then. But there's still a good amount of land where we all could be, judging by the scale of the pond in front of me to its digital counterpart. It seems unlikely, if not impossible, that I could run into someone based solely on chance.

That should quell my nerves, but it doesn't. There must be some scheme to bring us together. I️ don't see how we're supposed to all kill each other in seven days when we can't even find each other.

I feel far more prepared knowing what I have and don't have with me. I repack the bandages, socks, and matches, then look over my food supplies. There's really not enough for one day, let alone seven. But if I'm planning on being alive as long as possible, I'll need to ration. On that topic, I should probably save my energy, too. I can't physically afford to be running everywhere.

That leaves the water bottle, the tablets, and my watch. As I move to put the watch on, my knuckle grazes its surface. Another menu comes up.

 _Display locations?_ it reads.

 _Yes_ , I select, curious.

The menu vanishes, replaced by a new map. It's identical to the old map except for smaller gray dots spotted across the mountain. I tap on one.

The image of a grinning, blonde-haired boy pops up. Brandon. Like my page, his offers no written information, but I already know what I need to know: He's not far from me.

The longer I sit alone, the more I realize how much safer I'd feel with someone else to watch my back. Not to mention, someone to talk to. Once the immediate tasks, packing and purifying my water, are complete, I'll be alone again with my thoughts. I can't risk anything creeping in.

Brandon and I were teammates for four years. We can work together as well as anyone here. Besides, knowing how sociable he is, he'll definitely have other allies. Jackson wasn't wrong when he said numbers would be valuable, but they weren't the right people.

My heart drums in my chest, excited at the prospect of a plan. I don't know what I'll do once I get there, but for now, finding Brandon is a small goal that will get me one step closer to going home.

Once my water's done, I'll finish the bottle and prepare a new one. Then I'll get going.

The only way to put this night behind me is to keep moving forward.

* * *

 **Seraphina Corvo.  
** **Oakland, California.**

* * *

Chanel's pace is overwhelming.

"We need to rest," I breathe, but she doesn't so much as look back.

"We don't have time to rest. Do you think anyone else is taking their time, relaxing?"

"They… probably… at least took the chance to look through their materials," I say. Even with mortal terror and adrenaline pressing me forward, my calves are killing me.

"We don't need to stop right now," she says simply. "Besides, best-case scenario, we won't even have to open our backpacks."

That's right. Because we don't plan on being here for more than a day. Chanel's master plan, as she explained to me after we took off from the drop-off, is to find a way out. A road, specifically, since someone's bound to come across us there eventually, and hopefully they'll get us out of here. First, though, she wants to climb to the top and survey the area. I guess it could be worse, given that the van dropped us at a fairly high point on the mountain, but I'm still exhausted.

I haven't found a way to tell her yet that I don't think things are going to be as simple as she hopes. If the adults went to all that trouble to cover up the kidnapping, then I'm sure they've found a way to trap us. But I'm trying to keep my dissent to a minimum. Chanel didn't have to pick me, out of everyone that was with us, to come with her. I'm not sure what use I am to her, exactly, but if anything she'll be able to protect me. I'll take any help I can get.

"But we are stopping for lunch soon, right?" I ask. I can't help myself. "Or breakfast? Since we haven't eaten since yesterday?"

She turns to look at me, but she doesn't stop moving. "You're actually hungry? After all that's happened?"

"I mean…" I hesitate.

She shakes her head, scoffing. "I'm not. We'll stop later."

Even though my ears are ringing and the rocky terrain in front of me sways and swirls, I bite my tongue and neck it out for another hour.

The sun is high in the sky by the time Chanel finally deems us at a good enough place to stop. We come to a rest in a shaded area blanketed by old branches and still-damp grass. I sink down in the grass, shrugging my shoulders to let my backpack fall to the ground.

Chanel just shakes her head and drops down into a crouch next to me. She keeps watch out of the corners of her vision as she starts unzipping her bag, head snapping to the side at a distant bird call. _She's terrified, too,_ I realize, but I don't dare voice the thought.

"Are you going to open your bag or just sit there?"

"Oh. Sorry." With a grunt, I️ pull the bag in front of me and start unzipping pockets. An old P.E. sweatshirt rests at the top of the large pocket, and traumatic thoughts of fitness tests, of sprinting back and forth in our dusty gym, flood my mind before I remember that there are far more relevant issues to worry about. The sweatshirt will be good for nighttime, but at the height of the day it's of no use to me.

The rest of my supplies are fairly straightforward: some rope, a bottle of painkillers, and a few snacks. I'm pulling a small tube of some sort of disinfectant out of the bottom of my bag when I see what Chanel's holding.

"Jesus."

"Whoa." Chanel dangles an onyx revolver between her fingers.

"Be careful with that," I say.

"I'm not going to use it." But she eyes it for a few more seconds, her curiosity winning out, before she sets it down.

We pool our food together. I have some dried fruit, canned chili, and a few granola bars. Her stores are no more extravagant- all she has are fruit strips, a jar of salted almonds, and some pretzels. It's not much for one of us, let alone to share for multiple meals.

"So how should we...?" I start.

"Eat whatever you need to eat to keep going," she says. "We're not going to be here long enough to get hungry, anyways."

She's far too confident that we'll be able to beat the system. But I know better than to argue with her.

I grab a bar and bite in, famished. Chanel picks at a couple of pretzels, but doesn't act on her appetite.

"I'm thirsty," she announces, setting the bag down.

"Do you have any water?"

"No," she frowns. "A bottle, but it's empty."

 _Better than nothing_ , I think, looking at my own small pile of supplies. I don't have a weapon of any sort, unless you count the rope, which I don't. For a second part of me wonders if it was purposeful, me not getting anything good while she has both a gun and a water bottle. But I shake that thought away; what we got was all by chance. Wasn't it?

"We'll just have to find water on the way," she says, pretzels crunching in her mouth. "A lake, or something."

"Not a lake," I say, before I can stop myself. She frowns at me. "I mean, you don't want to deal with still water if you don't have anything to purify it with. We're better off looking for a running stream or something… in which case, heading uphill is still our best move."

She chuckles.

"What?" I say, crossing my arms across my chest.

"I'm not laughing at you, I promise. I just think it's crazy that almost everything has changed, and yet you're still exactly the same as you were back at school." She cracks a smile, despite everything. "I'm glad one of us paid attention whenever the hell they mentioned that sophomore year."

I blush, a little flattered. "Actually, someone mentioned it a few days ago at one of those outdoor lessons. I wrote pretty much everything down."

"I knew it!" she shouts, shocking me. "I knew none of the shit they taught us at Haversmith would ever matter." She grins at me, but I've sobered at her words.

"I know," I say. "It's weird. That everything that we used to worry about really doesn't mean anything anymore."

All the things my parents stressed me out about- my grades, my scholarships, my prestige as a musician, that stupid boy- they're gone now. They're obsolete. And it hurts, knowing I'm never going back to the way I was. The things I cared about, I'll never get to care about again. And didn't I waste all my time worrying, wasting the short life I had being controlled and pushed around like I couldn't look after myself?

"I'm not hungry anymore," I decide, putting my half-consumed bar back in my pack.

Chanel furrows her brow. "We've barely eaten."

"No, you're right." I get to my feet. "If you want to get out of here, we should probably get going sooner rather than later."

I can't be here another minute. Chanel hastily throws her things back together, but I'm far ahead of her by the time she starts back up the mountain.

I don't want her to see the tears in my eyes. It's heartbreaking to realize that this impossible mission to get out of the mountains is my only hope at surviving the rest of the week. Among performance days, auditions, interviews, tennis tryouts, and college acceptances, this is the only day of my life that means anything.

This alliance- this mission- is all I care about now.

Because if we don't escape the mountains, my entire life will have been meaningless.

* * *

 **Ritual by Ellie Goulding.**

* * *

 **No deaths.**

* * *

 **I found this in my drafts from November. November 2017. The last memory I have of writing this was during the middle of a Costco run last fall and until this week I hadn't so much as looked at it since.**

 **Long story short, a week after I posted the last chapter, I joined my university's rowing team. Couldn't really make time to write among all my classes, 4am wake-ups 6 days a week, and just generally my mental health was not the best so I wasn't in any place to tackle a project like this. I've spent a lot of time reflecting on what I need to do to be happy and returning to writing is one of the best things I can do for myself right now. I'm not rowing anymore, either, so I'll have more time and energy to finish what I started. This story doesn't end until I say it ends.**

 **It's been a full year since I've really been in the universe of this story, so if you notice inconsistencies, I really don't care enough to make this perfectly perfect anymore. Call me out though and I'll try to fix it.**

 **If anyone's still on this site, try not to hate me too much. And if you're still reading, hey, I love you.**

 **Till next time… and may next time not be a year from now.**


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